


Holidating

by idreamofdraco



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Holidays, Humor, Inspired by Holidate, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Ginny Weasley, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch Player Ginny Weasley, Romance, can you call this fake dating if they aren't trying to convince anyone they're romantic?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idreamofdraco/pseuds/idreamofdraco
Summary: Ginny is tired of being the only single Weasley at family gatherings and all the pity that comes with that status. Draco could do without opportunistic women taking advantage of his desire to connect. The solution? Team up to become platonic dates during the holidays.If only their hearts could stick to the plan....
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 37
Kudos: 54





	1. Christmas Eve 2005

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinyYellowDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyYellowDragon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Holidate](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/752574) by Netflix. 



> This story is inspired by the Netflix movie Holidate. Some of the plot points will be similar to things that happen in the movie, but some will be different.
> 
> I'm dedicating this story to EvShadow/TinyYellowDragon because this was all her idea. I had no intention of writing this when she asked me if a story like it existed. But the plot bunny refused to hop away, so I succumbed to its infernal influence. Thanks for everything.
> 
> Except for the first three chapters, my plan is to update approximately once a month, each update coinciding with a different holiday or event that month. Which means - fingers crossed, knock on wood - this story will be complete before January 1, 2022. I will do my best to stick to that schedule.

  
  


_  
**Christmas Eve 2005**   
_

Ginny plastered a smile to her face as her ex-boyfriend circulated around the room giving hugs and handshakes and pats on the back to her entire family.

“What is he doing here?” Ginny muttered out of the side of her mouth toward her sister-in-law.

“He was invited,” Hermione replied, the laughter in her voice clearly due to her amusement at Ginny’s discomfort.

“But I thought he had to work! Mum said he wasn’t going to make it.”

Harry was now on the opposite side of the room, kissing Fleur’s cheek while four-year-old Victoire clung to his leg. He was making quick progress through her family and Ginny dreaded the moment they were face-to-face for the first time in two months. She turned her back to him, pretending to be deeper in conversation with Hermione than she really was.

The new view of Hermione’s face meant that the pity that crossed it was on full display. Ginny’s stomach plummeted, knowing what Hermione was going to say before she said it.

“Your mum just said that so you would still come. She misses you, you know.”

Ginny’s smile slipped and her gaze swung to the entrance of the kitchen where Molly was finishing dinner, conspicuously and suspiciously missing out on the reunion between her daughter and her favorite almost-son-in-law.

Today was the first time in months that Ginny had graced the occupants of the Burrow with her presence. Ever since Harry had broken up with her, she had avoided visiting when she knew Harry would be there, and unfortunately, Harry visited often.

Ginny shouldn’t blame him for not being able to let go of the Weasleys. They were the only family Harry had besides the new family he’d made after the war with his godson, Teddy Lupin, and Teddy’s grandmother, Andromeda Tonks. Still, Ginny couldn’t help but feel some resentment that in the breakup, Ginny had lost custody of her own family to avoid Harry while he felt no need to sacrifice his time with them for Ginny’s sake.

“No,” Ginny said, frustration making her voice crack. “This wasn’t about seeing me. This was about trying to get Harry and me back together.”

One of Hermione’s eyebrows lifted. Before she could voice her skepticism, two things happened. First, Molly came into the room and looked right at Ginny with a bright smile. Second, Harry reached her and Hermione, Victoire still holding tightly to his leg and giggling up at her aunts.

Harry and Hermione hugged briefly and exchanged pleasantries that Ginny couldn’t hear due to the pounding of her blood in her ears. And then he turned to Ginny, the corners of his lips twitching downward, his smile falling.

“It’s good to see you,” he said as he leaned forward for a hug.

Ginny held her hands up, blocking him. “I wish I could say the same.”

Hermione sighed loudly.

“Are we—”

Ginny interrupted him. “I think Mum needs help with the food.”

She sidestepped him and triumph filled her when he couldn’t follow with Victoire attached to him like moss on a rock. Molly glared disapprovingly as Ginny passed her to go into the kitchen. Unfortunately, no small child prevented her from trailing after her daughter.

Ginny knew better than to touch any of the food—when had Molly ever asked for help preparing a meal?—which meant there was no avoiding Molly’s disapproval. Maybe a preemptive strike would catch Molly off guard.

She turned. “You told me Harry wasn’t coming.”

“This is silly, Ginny. He’s like family. You can’t avoid him forever.”

Ginny crossed her arms. “But he’s not family. That was his choice not to become our family. Or did you forget that Harry broke up with me?”

Molly’s brow knit with uncertainty. Either she’d forgotten or she’d convinced herself that Ginny had ruined the relationship somehow. The idea that her mother could think that of her, that anyone could, stung.

Ginny had loved Harry since she was ten. She’d loved him before he saved her life. She’d loved him while he fancied Cho. She’d loved him after he’d broken up with her at Dumbledore’s funeral. She’d even loved his ridiculous, noble reason for doing so. Ginny thought the worst life could throw at them had been put behind them and that everything they’d gone through together at Hogwarts had forged an unbreakable bond that could never be severed. The next steps after cementing their careers included marriage. Children. They were supposed to have the whole package.

But Harry was the one who had broken up with her, seemingly out of nowhere. He hadn’t even had a noble reason for tearing their lives apart. He hadn’t given her any reason that made sense to Ginny.

“You were so happy together. I just don’t understand.”

Her and Ginny both. And both of them just needed to get over the fact that Ginny was single now.

Thankfully, Charlie entered the kitchen just then with Victoire sitting on his shoe, latched to his leg, still giggling despite the tension that followed her..

“Charlie,” Ginny whinged. “You’ll back me up, right? Tell Mum there’s nothing wrong with being single. You’ve been single your whole life and that’s okay!” She grabbed his arm and pouted at him, and Victoire mimicked her aunt’s expression but couldn’t maintain it between her giggles.

Charlie let out a surprised laugh. “Is that what you think? I hate to disappoint you, Gin, but I’ve got a boyfriend in Romania. It’s okay for you to be single though.”

Ginny gaped as she dropped his arm. “Since when have you had a boyfriend?” She whirled on Molly, who either took this news in stride or had already been privy to the information. “And why didn’t I know about him?”

Charlie ruffled her hair as he walked past her, dragging Victoire to the stove so he could lean down and inspect various steaming pots. “Maybe you should write to me more and then you’d know things.”

The kitchen began to fill with the chatter of more hungry souls searching for food, the sounds of plates being heaped with meat and vegetables and desserts, chairs scraping against the floor, and silverware clanking against plates. 

The entire family squeezed around the table which was extended on one end with an additional card table that sat a little bit lower than everyone else. Extra chairs had been pulled from other rooms to accommodate everyone, but even with the expanded table, there was little space. For the first time in their entire lives, the Weasley boys showed good manners and ate without elbows on the table, but only because there was no room for them anyway.

Ginny found herself at the end of the lower card table next to George’s girlfriend Verity and across from Fleur and Bill. Victoire reigned queen with the most elbow room at the foot of the table, opposite Arthur at the head. Ginny was treated to a front row view of familial bliss as Bill made a Quidditch match of feeding Victoire and Fleur leaned close to whisper things to him that made him laugh before turning to continue a conversation with George and Hermione about the newest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes release. When Ginny looked down the table, she saw all the couples nearly on top of each other because of the lack of elbow room. Percy draped his arm over Penelope’s chair because he had nowhere else to put it. Ron and Hermione ate off the same mile-high plate. The multiple conversations created a tumultuous roar, and from her place at the end of the table, she only heard a word or two before someone else’s voice rose above the others.

Harry and Charlie were without dates like Ginny, but they sat in the middle of the table and joked and laughed with everyone around them. Verity kept her head turned toward George and the rest of the family, so if Ginny wanted to make conversation, her only option for a partner was Victoire, but only when Bill wasn’t flying spoonfuls of Quaffle peas into her mouth.

Somehow, Ginny had become sidelined in her own family. Resentment and jealousy filled her gut. For years, Ginny had sat right next to Harry during every family meal and holiday at the Burrow. He’d included her when he, Hermione, and Ron got carried away reminiscing about their Hogwarts days, and he’d explained every inside joke she didn’t understand. It might have been Harry’s fault that she was dateless, but he wasn’t the one who had seated her at the end of the table.

Ginny had never noticed how her family partnered up with their significant others until she had no significant other of her own anymore. She hadn’t felt so alone with her family since her childhood, when none of her brothers had wanted anything to do with their baby sister. After the age of thirteen, she’d learned to speak up and make a place for herself among the rowdy Weasley bunch.

So why was it so hard to make herself heard now?

Ron tapped his fork against his plate to catch everyone’s attention and the chatter died down. He and Hermione shared a look that made Hermione giggle.

Clearing his throat, Ron said, “While everyone is here, Hermione and I wanted to make an announcement.”

Molly gasped. “Are you pregnant?”

Hermione’s smile widened and she nodded emphatically. “Yes! Baby Weasley will be arriving in August!”

More gasps and congratulations and questions echoed around the small kitchen. Ginny’s stomach flipped in excitement before sinking.

George raised his voice over the din. “Ron isn’t the only one with an announcement!”

Verity raised her left hand, the one closest to Ginny that had been hidden in her lap up until this moment, and a diamond glinted on her ring finger. George hugged her from the side and she laughed and more shouting and questions drowned out their replies.

Disappointment and guilt sat heavy as a boulder in Ginny’s stomach. She was the worst sister not to be excited to see their large family grow even larger. Of course she was excited to have a new nibling, and Verity had practically been family since Fred and George hired her as their first WWW employee nearly a decade ago. But Ginny understood her reaction now, though understanding it didn’t make it less hateful to feel it.

Ginny had been so close to being in Hermione and Verity’s shoes. If Harry hadn’t turned his back on the years they’d shared together, maybe she would have had an announcement to share, too. Or maybe she wouldn’t have because she and Harry would have already been married and started their family. It wasn’t difficult to look at Hermione and Verity’s beaming faces, to hear everyone’s excitement, and imagine Ginny in their place. It hurt how badly she wanted to be in their place.

After Ron and Hermione’s news, a crying Molly had jumped out of her chair to hug the happy parents-to-be and now she raced around the table to shower kisses on George and Verity.

Ginny was only twenty-four but she was already falling behind in life. Catching up with Bill and Ron and Percy and George seemed impossible. She’d spent her entire life in love with Harry. She thought they’d be together for the rest of their lives. She hadn’t even had enough time to mourn the loss of the life she’d envisioned for herself and now here her brothers were reminding Ginny of what she had lost. Even worse—reminding their mum of what Ginny had lost. If Molly had been persistent about trying to get Harry and Ginny back together before, there was no limit to what she might do now that she was motivated by her other children’s happiness.

Ginny needed some time to get used to the idea that she and Harry were never going to have the life that Bill and Fleur or Ron and Hermione or Percy and Penelope had. She needed to get used to how her role in her family had changed thanks to Harry’s abandonment, how family dinners and holidays would always be different.

During the celebration, Ginny made the mistake of meeting Harry’s gaze. His happiness for his adopted family dimmed as he saw the bleak expression on Ginny’s face, but it brought her no pleasure to see his sorrow and pity. The same pity Hermione had worn when revealing Molly’s earlier subterfuge.

How dare he pity her when the life she wanted was suspended because of him? She refused to be an object of pity to Harry or anyone else in her family. No. She had not asked to be broken up with, but this was the shitty hand she’d been dealt. All she could do now was play the game.

And Ginny was great at bluffing.

Starting today, she would not let anyone know how much Harry had bruised her heart or crushed her dreams. In fact, she would do everything in her power not to let it show that her life had slipped beyond her control. If she was single for the first time in her life, then she would not let anyone know that she wasn’t happy about it.

Eventually she’d believe it herself, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The humor will pick up immediately in chapter 2, which will be posted in the next few days. If you've seen Holidate, which scenes/events would you like to see in this story? :D


	2. Boxing Day 2005

  
  


**  
_Boxing Day 2005_   
**

“You are _lying_ , Draco Malfoy!” Pansy said with a shrieking laugh that turned the heads of Madam Malkin’s patrons—both those perusing her wares and those standing in the absurd line that filed out the shop and into Diagon Alley.

Draco didn’t appreciate the attention Pansy garnered. Frankly, he didn’t appreciate being laughed at, either. Though if he’d let himself think about the situation objectively, he would recognize the humor in his tale.

He ignored Pansy’s accusation and continued. “We walked into that house, dressed in finery, thinking the Greengrasses were throwing a Christmas ball. Instead of being escorted to the ballroom, we were shown the parlor, where the whole family was waiting in ambush.”

“Not Daphne, too?”

Draco nodded. “Daphne, too. We then found out that there was no Christmas ball. We had been invited over for dinner to discuss the engagement.”

Pansy gasped loudly. “Whose engagement?”

Heat radiated up Draco’s neck, partially in embarrassment but mostly in anger. The humiliation of the moment angered him the most, stuck with him nearly forty-eight hours later.

“Mine and Astoria’s.”

Pansy was torn between laughter and another gasp, which turned into an alarming choking sound that included both. She might have been a noisy listener, but her reactions were gratifying and _somewhat_ helped Draco see the humor in the situation.

“My parents were mortified to learn of my engagement to Astoria by being deceived into visiting the Greengrasses. When I assured everyone we were not engaged, Astoria got angry and asked me why—”

Stopping himself, Draco took a quick glance around the shop to see if anyone was paying attention. The redhead in line behind them glanced away too quickly for Draco to tell if she’d been listening or if their passing glances were coincidental. He lowered his voice and leaned down to Pansy.

“In front of both of our parents, Astoria asked why she’d let me bed her like a dog if I wasn’t going to marry her afterward. And her mother said Astoria never would have slept with someone who wasn’t her husband. ”

Pansy’s eyes were shining in anticipation. “What did you say?”

“I merely pointed out that if we had been engaged, I still wouldn’t be her husband yet, so maybe her daughter’s standards weren’t as high as she claimed them to be.”

Pansy cackled. "I can just picture the way you would deliver that, all condescending and prat-like.”

Draco frowned, not really liking the picture Pansy painted, mostly because she was exactly right. He had been a condescending prat, but he still thought Astoria and her mother deserved it.

“Yes, well. That was not received well at all. We left immediately after that before her father could challenge me to a duel. My parents were livid with me. Father said I should know better than to put my—” He paused and cleared his throat. They were in public after all. “—in any tight hole. That’s how good men find themselves married before they are ready.”

Pansy shook her head and grinned. “Why did you put your—” _cough, cough_ “—in her hole?”

“Why indeed?” Draco said with a suggestive smirk that made Pansy roll her eyes.

The truth was, he’d liked Astoria. Very much, actually. Before the disaster of Christmas Eve, she’d been sweet and soft-spoken and understanding. She’d given Draco the impression that he could tell her anything and she’d accept it. Accept him. But one thing had led to another, and their attraction for each other had ignited. Only then had she shown her true colors.

It was no secret among the Sacred Twenty-Eight that the Greengrasses were on the verge of losing everything. Bad management over decades had dwindled their finances until there was nothing left but the house they lived in and a few frocks on their backs. A marriage to a wealthy family was just what they needed to restore their once-esteemed estate.

Astoria had used him for some indecent sex, and then she’d let her family try to trap him into marriage for the chance they needed to save their family name. Draco would have felt badly for them if he hadn’t been so angry at himself for nearly letting it happen.

“You know what you need?” Pansy said as the line moved forward another foot. “A holidate.”

“A what?”

“A holidate. I always have one when I attend engagements around the holidays.”

Draco shook his head in confusion. “Explain.”

Pansy’s lips curled into a secretive smile. “A holidate is someone you date just for the holidays. Then you don’t have to attend parties and events alone. You go together, you have a good time, and then you don’t see each other again until the next holiday rolls around. It’s a great way to avoid sticky things like entrapment and feelings.”

“You do that? Date someone just to say you have a date for the holidays?”

“Sure. Do you remember Madam Zabini’s last Halloween party? Peregrine Derrick was my holidate to that. And I took Justin Finch-Fletchley home with me for dinner with my parents on Christmas Eve.”

“That Hufflepuff Muggleborn that got Pet—”

“Yes, that one. My parents were torn between horror and admiration at having him at their table. Turns out his family is quite wealthy in the Muggle world and his elitist snobbery about Muggle things impressed them. I thought he was a bit of a bore, but he served his purpose and kept Mother off my back about marrying as soon as possible. And then we fucked in the garden after dessert, and he wasn’t that boring after all.”

Pansy tilted her head, seemingly lost in memory.

Draco shuddered and only just stopped himself from glancing around to see if anyone had overheard her vulgar speech. “Do you sleep with all your holidates?”

She shook her head, the ends of her black hair swishing against her jawline. “Only the ones I want to shut up. But usually we decide that beforehand, when we make contact about the date. Sometimes I’m in the mood, sometimes they’re not. That’s the beauty of the holidate. It’s whatever you need it to be without the commitment and messiness.”

Finally they reached the counter, where Madam Malkin’s apprentice manned the register. Draco placed a package in front of her and said, “I’d like to return this.”

“Do you have a receipt?” she asked, her bored tone matching the pace at which the line had moved forward.

“No, it was a gift.”

The assistant rolled her eyes and unwrapped the package, shaking out the forest green robes that Astoria had given to him before having a fit that Draco had not given her a gift in return.

“Oh my,” the assistant said, eyebrows rising in astonishment.

Those were the only words needed to describe the garment. If the silver tinsel garland sewn into all the hems wasn’t bad enough, the multicolored flashing lights that decorated the entire front of the robes should strike anyone dumb. If that didn’t work, the Christmas hat-wearing cat heads hand-stitched into the fabric were quite an alarming sight. And then, right on cue, the embroidered cats began to meow a Christmas tune in chorus, which should have succeeded where all the other gaudy embellishments hadn’t before in rendering the beholder speechless. 

Pansy laughed because of course she did. Draco ignored the snickers emanating from the line of people behind him.

The assistant brightened as if her day had been made. “How often do they meow?”

“Every hour. So you see why I’d like to return it.”

The assistant shook her head but called for Madam Malkin across the shop, who bustled over with pins sticking out of her mouth and a tape measure wrapped around her neck.

“This gent would like to return this,” she said to her employer.

Madam Malkin’s eyes widened and then narrowed at Draco before spitting the pins out into her hand. “This was a custom order.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Draco said, appalled that more than one person had been involved in the creation of such an atrocious eyesore. 

“No returns on custom pieces.”

Draco did a double-take. “What? But I didn’t order it! It was a gift. An unwanted gift.”

Madam Malkin shoved the robe back into Draco’s arms, the insult clear on her face the way she lifted her nose in the air. “I am sorry to hear that. Perhaps you could return the gift to the person who purchased it?”

Draco gaped at the fabric, wondering how Astoria had managed to ruin Christmas twice. “I can’t give it back to her! Would you rather I burn it instead?”

Madam Malkin’s whole expression transformed into one of horror, as if she could not believe someone would desecrate her art in such a way. She opened her mouth to argue, but another voice interrupted.

“I’ll take it off your hands,” the redhead behind Draco said.

As he and Pansy turned around, recognition hit Draco with the same punch as a garishly bright and obnoxiously loud custom-ordered Christmas robe.

It had been ages since Draco had seen Ginny Weasley in person. Or, at least, face-to-face. He’d attended some of her Quidditch matches over the years, when the Holyhead Harpies made it to the playoffs, but he hadn’t been up close and personal with her like this since their Hogwarts days. He tried not to think about that, though.

Instead, he thought about how short she was and how much prettier she’d grown since their teenage years. He never would have admitted it back then, not even when Blaise Zabini had shown appreciation for her appearance, but it hit him like a second punch to the gut. Big brown eyes that sparkled with amusement met his. Lush, bow-shaped lips pursed in an attempt to hide a smile. Freckles dotted her face, and maybe those were a little garish in combination with her stunningly red hair, much like the Christmas robe she professed to want, but they worked for her. Made her face interesting to look at.

Pansy elbowed Draco when he’d been silent for an uncomfortable length of time, and Draco blinked.

Weasley tilted her head, her wavy ponytail slinging over her shoulder and baring her neck where her scarf had loosened. Hm. Maybe he should look somewhere else.

He cleared his throat and said with his usual sharp brilliance, “What?”

“I would be glad to take the robe off your hands.”

“Why?”

Weasley shrugged. “I like cats. Also you’re holding up the line. Some of us have other things to do today.”

He almost handed the robe right over, but he stopped himself mid-reach. No! He wanted compensation for what Astoria had put him through this Christmas. Not just lying about their engagement and presumably attempting to shame him into marriage for his money, but also for the disapproval his parents had treated him to for the rest of the holiday due to his bad choice of bed partners.

He snatched the robe back. “How much would you pay for it?”

A chorus of groans filled the shop from the other patrons waiting in line, but Draco would not step out of line until the robe was out of his hands.

Weasley retrieved a money pouch from her pocket and dug around inside it. Then she handed some coins to Draco, who stared at his open palm with disbelief.

“Eleven Sickles?” he announced in disgust.

Pansy tugged on his arm. “You know, you could have zero Sickles and a charred robe instead. Just imagine what that meowing will sound like when the cats are on fire.”

A shudder went down Draco’s spine. Knowing Pansy was right, he closed his fist around the loose change and then handed the robe over to Weasley.

“Don’t spend that all in one place,” she said with a smile.

Pansy dragged him out of the store and back into Diagon Alley. “What an ordeal that was,” she said. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Never attempt to return a Christmas gift on Boxing Day?”

“No. Never date a cat person. They’re sad and weird and they can’t stop themselves from pushing their cat fetish onto everyone else.”

Draco scowled. “Don’t make me regret telling you about Astoria.”

“Oh, Draco,” she replied with a sigh, “that’s your second mistake and—hopefully—lesson learned. Don’t trust me with your humiliation. You will never hear the end of it.”

She said her goodbyes after that and departed for the Leaky Cauldron. Draco contemplated treating himself to Florean Fortescue’s before making his own way home but froze when he heard someone say his name. He turned to find Ginny Weasley behind him again, nearly getting swallowed in the bustle of the shopping crowd. A garment bag that she must have picked up from Madam Malkin’s was slung over her shoulder.

“No returns, Weasley. The Sickles are mine and the robe is yours.”

Her lips turned up in a smile. “You can pry the robe out of my cold dead hands.”

She seemed to mean it, and that scared Draco a little. Not only did she have bad taste (which he well knew already—just look at her choice of friends and shabby clothes despite her success at Quidditch), she _savored_ her bad taste. He thought about what Pansy had just said about cat people. Maybe Ginny Weasley was one of those sad weirdos….

She didn’t look sad, though. In fact, her eyes shimmered with something that looked like hope, and Draco’s fear grew a little more.

“I couldn’t help but overhear your very loud conversation in Madam Malkin’s,” she started.

Draco suppressed a groan by scowling as hard as he could. He crossed his arms super casually, as if he didn’t care that she’d eavesdropped on his indignity. Yes, that was exactly the vibe he gave off. He wasn’t tense or defensive at all.

She took a step closer to him and licked her lips. “I think we should be holidates.”

The shock of her statement made Draco drop his extremely nonchalant pose. His jaw probably dropped along with it.

Raising her hands cautiously, she went on as if expecting Draco to laugh at her or launch into a tirade—neither of which he was capable of at the moment. “Listen, I know that sounds insane, but hear me out. You clearly had a bad experience this Christmas with someone who didn’t understand the boundaries of your relationship. What if you had someone you could rely on? Someone you could spend the holidays with without worrying about them getting the wrong idea?”

“While you were listening in on a private conversation, did you ever hear me say that I wanted or needed a holidate? The incident with Astoria never would have happened if she had been upfront with the nature of the invitation her family was extending.”

Weasley’s mouth opened and then closed, her eyebrows drawing together over her nose in uncertainty. She hadn’t thought of that at all. She’d made an assumption about what Draco wanted—why?

Because _she_ needed a holidate, Draco realized with triumph.

His posture loosened some more now that he had the advantage of her desperation, now that he knew that she was the one who needed something from him.

“Alright then. Maybe you don’t need a date. But if you had one, then you wouldn’t have to worry about other women getting the wrong idea.” She started off slowly, but as she sorted through her thoughts and considered her reply, she began to pick up steam. “Let’s say the Greengrasses _had_ thrown a Christmas soiree.”

“No one says soiree anymore.”

“If you and your family had gone, Astoria still might have tried to manipulate you into an engagement in front of a larger audience. But if you’d had a holidate, then she and everyone else at the party would have known that Astoria had no claim to you. Imagine if you’d shown up for that intimate dinner with your parents and your holidate, thinking there was going to be a party instead. Astoria never would have been able to convince anyone you were engaged if you arrived at the Greengrasses’ house with someone else. ”

Draco considered this, but it was hard to think in the middle of Diagon Alley, where Boxing Day shoppers swarmed the street looking for the best Boxing Day sales. Weasley was so small, it was only a matter of time before the tide of people swept her away from him.

“Why don’t we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” 

Without waiting to see if she followed, he headed towards his original destination, Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, now run by Fortescue’s daughter. With the Sickles she’d paid him for the robe, Draco purchased an ice cream sundae with most toppings imaginable, and then located a table outside underneath a standing flaming torch for warmth.

Weasley had in fact followed him, inside the ice cream parlor and then out. She draped her garment bag over the back of a chair and then sat down across from him with a frown. She did not buy an ice cream, he noticed.

“Are you really going to eat all that?” she asked as Draco dug his spoon out of his sundae.

The spoon paused in mid-air as he looked down at it and then at her. “I like sweets. Don’t you?”

She eyed his bowl of whipped cream-laden, caramel sauce-drizzled chocolate ice cream sprinkled with hundreds-and-thousands and Cauldron Cake crumbles, and topped with three cherries as if it were a Dungbomb about to explode.

“Not that many at one time.”

He shoved the spoon in his mouth and watched with relish as she gagged. Her nose scrunched in disgust and it was kind of a cute expression. For a Weasley-turned-Quidditch star.

“My proposal, Malfoy?” she prompted him after she’d dubiously observed him take two more bites of his sundae.

Ah, yes. The reason they were sharing a table outside in the cold in the first place.

“Remind me again why I should want a holidate?”

She huffed in exasperation. “Because doing so would send a signal to unwanted paramours—”

“No one says paramours anymore.”

“—that you and your Gringotts vault are not available. Then you can enjoy the engagements you attend in peace, and you can trust that I will _never_ get the wrong idea about our arrangement.”

She had a point there. The Weasley family’s destitution, much like the Greengrasses’, should have been a red flag, but the Weasleys were proud of their poverty for some reason. And Ginny Weasley was a rising star making her own money; she didn’t need his. Besides, if there was one thing Draco could trust any Weasley not to do, it was fall in love with a Malfoy or pretend to fall in love with one for financial gain. The animosity between their two families was too deep-rooted to fail them.

Draco licked his spoon clean while turning the idea over in his mind. Something else occurred to him to ask. When he narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion, she flushed and quickly looked away. He couldn’t help but notice how her flaming cheeks unsuccessfully hid her freckles.

“I admit that your argument for my want of a holidate is almost convincing. But why do you need a holidate? What do you get out of such an arrangement?”

The flush darkened, spreading over to her unprotected ears.

“Don’t lie to me, either. If you really want to be holidates, then shouldn’t there be an amount of trust in that? I can’t possibly be your first choice for a partner.”

“No, certainly not,” she agreed. She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “I’m the last single Weasley in existence.”

“Pardon?” Draco sucked on his spoon, waiting for clarification.

Weasley sighed. “All of my brothers are dating someone, engaged, or married. I am the only Weasley who is single, thanks to Harry breaking up with me a couple months ago after seven and a half years together.”

Draco’s brows lifted in surprise. It had been so long since the gossip rags had mentioned Potter and Weasley’s relationship that it was assumed they had broken up over a year ago. No one had ever gone on record to correct the misconception.

“And even though Harry broke up with me, he didn’t break up with my family.” She looked him in the face and he saw the resentment in hers. The frown, the sad creases at the corners of her eyes, the way her nostrils flared. “He still attends family dinners and parties and events, like he’s one of my brothers instead of the person who broke my—”

She cut herself off and looked away, biting her lip to stop herself from saying more. But she’d said enough. What she’d said—and hadn’t said—about Potter coincided with what Draco had known about the git since their first day at Hogwarts.

Harry Potter got everything he wanted and nothing he deserved. He wanted the girl? He got her. Wanted the family? He got it. No longer wanted the girl? Discard her. But give up the family? Never. Some would say Potter had sacrificed his life for the safety of the wizarding world, and his parents had certainly sacrificed their lives for his. But where was the proof of his sacrifice? What had he lost? As always, nothing.

“So,” he said in a low voice, trying to soothe a skittish kitten, “if we become each other’s holidates, what will that entail? Pansy said she and her holidates come to agreements before they go on their dates. What should we agree to?”

Weasley straightened in her seat, her arms unfolding to rest her hands on the table and lean toward him. “You’ll do it?”

Draco waved his hand airily. “Depends on the terms, I suppose.”

“I’ve already thought about that,” she said, the sadness leaving her eyes and excitement animating her.

“Of course you have,” Draco said with an amused shake of his head. He wasn’t sure why he was glad to see her sadness fade. He should have been giddy that Potter’s most devoted fan finally saw him for who he really was after more than half a lifetime of fealty.

“First, we won’t purposely offend each other’s friends and families.”

Draco lowered his spoon in disappointment. “Well, why not?”

“That’s not what this arrangement is about! It’s about enjoying our holidays without being pitied—in my case—or pursued—in yours. Besides, all of our acquaintances will be horrified to find out we’ve brought each other to events as dates. There shouldn’t be a need to provoke them further.”

That didn’t sound like much fun, but he supposed she was right. He magnanimously waved for her to carry on, ice cream dripping from his spoon to the tabletop.

Bolstered by his lack of argument, she continued. “Second, let’s agree to be each other’s holidates for the next year. From New Years Eve to Christmas, whatever events come up, we can count on each other to attend. Of course, we don’t have to keep doing this if it doesn’t work out or if we end up in relationships with other people. But it might be nice to have a plan beforehand, to know we can rely on each other without too much burden.”

Burden, huh? Did she feel like a burden, he wondered?

He supposed it couldn’t hurt to have a plan. As she’d said, if the arrangement no longer worked for them at some point, they could end it.

He nodded and she smiled.

“Third… Well. So. I heard what Parkinson said about her holidates, and I think it’s safe to say our arrangement won’t be similar to some of hers. Would you agree with that?”

“Er, agree with what exactly?”

Her face heated again, the color of it nearly equivalent to the color of her scarf. “No sex, Malfoy. I should think it doesn’t need to be said, but I wanted to make sure our expectations were clear. That’s not why I’m doing this. If it’s something you want… well. I can find someone else to be my holidate.”

He put his spoon down in his empty bowl and leaned back in his chair. She’d attempted coyness at first, but she looked at him now with a defiant expression, her chin lifted as if daring him to ridicule her for whatever reason. Had she been ridiculed about sex before? Draco wasn’t sure if he was extremely intuitive or extremely prejudiced, but he wouldn’t put anything past Potter, honestly.

What he did know for sure was that Weasley was not going to be able to find another holidate. Not one like him, someone who would piss Potter off and maybe spite her family a little for being so obnoxiously happy. If Draco backed out, she would have no one.

It felt… kind of nice to be needed.

“You mean no sex with each other, correct? From what I understand, you’re not saying we couldn’t find sexual partners outside of our arrangement.”

She released a breath of relief as if she’d expected a fight. And now Draco wasn’t sure if she was reacting this way because of her past with Potter or because of _Draco_. Somehow he found himself insulted by her sigh.

“That’s right. What we do outside of the holidays is none of our business.”

“Are those all the rules?”

She nodded.

Draco mused over what she’d said and what he wanted while Weasley looked on, her body still with anticipation. He couldn’t think of anything else to add to her terms, so he offered his hand for a shake.

“Holidates, then?”

She beamed, and it was the brightest smile anyone had ever bestowed upon Draco, stunning him until she released his hand. He hadn’t even noticed she’d taken it.

“I cannot believe you ate that whole sundae,” she said in awed distaste.

Draco shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably be posted next week unless I get enough done on chapter 4 to post chapter 3 this week. :)


	3. New Year's Eve 2005

**  
_New Year's Eve 2005_  
**

Normally Ginny could count on nausea as a side effect of Apparition. Tonight, queasiness didn’t fill her stomach as a tell-tale crack announced her arrival at the back gate of the Burrow’s garden. Butterflies did. They fluttered their gossamer wings, tickling her insides with anticipation and nerves.

The hand holding hers let go and Ginny took a deep breath before looking at her holidate. Malfoy stared up at the Burrow’s lit windows, rising crookedly up into the darkness, his face inscrutable. Fierce protectiveness flashed through her as she wondered what he thought of the sight, though truly his opinion didn’t matter to her.

Malfoy looked down at her with raised brows. “Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Ginny grabbed his arm, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow as she conveyed him through the gate and into the unkempt garden. The tall grass glistened with frost under the moonlight, mimicking the stars that blanketed the uncloudy night sky. If she listened closely, Ginny thought she could hear gnome teeth chattering in their burrows buried within the unruly depths of the garden.

Instead of taking Malfoy to the Burrow, she went around the side of the house where she could definitely hear cheering and laughter and the unmistakable sound of Wildfire Whizbangs. Sure enough, as they rounded the corner, a bonfire came into view, and half the Weasley family sat around it in chairs taken from the dining table.

George commanded the center of attention several feet behind the fire as he bent over and lit a fuse with the tip of his wand. He raced back to his fiancee’s side and everyone waited for the fuse to ignite the gunpowder inside the firework and soar into the sky. It flew upward with a high-pitched shriek, up as high as Ron’s attic bedroom or maybe even higher. Then it exploded into a cascade of silver sparks that spelled out the words _Harry Nem Yeet_.

Ginny laughed at the nonsense even as her heart lurched at the sight of Harry’s name. Malfoy glanced at her again, and although the light of the fire and the fireworks illuminated his face sufficiently, Ginny couldn’t interpret what she saw there.

“Ginny!” George called as he spotted them, waving her forward. “Ginny, come look at what I’m working on for the shop!”

“Moment of truth,” Ginny muttered to Malfoy.

“Smile like you mean it,” he replied, his words muffled by the toothsome smile stretching his mouth.

They moved closer into the light and the excitement that could be heard from outside the garden fence silenced as her family got an eyeful of her arm candy.

“Who is that?” Verity asked from the opposite side of the fire, hand raised to her eyes as if that would help her to identify the unknown guest.

Ron sprang out of his chair. “I’ll tell you who it is,” he growled. He turned on Ginny. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“Who is it?” Verity asked again, straining to see through smoke and flames.

Ginny ignored Ron, though the fluttering in her stomach accelerated. She was bold enough to pull this off. She was confident enough to make it work.

Squaring her shoulders back and clutching Malfoy’s arm a little tighter, she said, “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Draco Malfoy. Malfoy, I think you know most everyone here. The confused one over there is my soon to be sister-in-law, Verity.”

Malfoy nodded in Verity and George’s direction. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

Ginny continued around the circle. “My parents, Arthur and Molly.”

“Thank you for having me,” Malfoy said.

“You know Ron, Hermione, and Harry, of course.” They were nearest to Ginny and Malfoy, so their dumbfounded expressions—and Ron’s flush of anger—were the least hidden by darkness and distance. 

“Of course. I hear congratulations are in order for you as well,” Malfoy said to Hermione.

“Oh! Er, thank you… Malfoy?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed as if she suspected Ginny had brought someone else disguised as a Malfoy instead of a real one.

His civility more than pleasantly surprised Ginny. It nearly shocked her. Sure, they’d agreed not to offend each other’s friends and families—it was rule number one of their holidating terms—but part of Ginny had been sure Malfoy wouldn’t be able to stop himself from picking a fight. Yet, here he was, more polite than ever before while Ron’s face began to turn purple in unprovoked indignation. She schooled her expression so that no one would be able to tell that Malfoy’s behavior was abnormal to her.

Which would certainly only cause more confusion since it was abnormal to everyone else.

“Are Percy and Bill coming?” Ginny asked her parents casually, as if she brought Malfoys to family gatherings every day.

“No, they’re both working early tomorrow,” Molly answered. “Ginny—”

_“What in the bloody hell is going on here?”_

Like one of George’s fireworks, Ron’s patience had finally reached the end of its fuse, exploding into an impressive display of color and noise. Silence met his outburst instead of gasps or cheers.

Ginny’s gaze scanned around the fire. “Malfoy is my holidate.”

Ron raised his eyebrows and shook his head, waiting for further explanation.

And Ginny relished in keeping him waiting. She would have smiled, but doing so would have given herself away. Better to make him think she wasn’t being obtuse on purpose.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the corners of Malfoy’s lips flip up into a small smile. Her stomach jumped even though his amusement at her brother’s torture should not have pleased her. She was needling Ron because she enjoyed it, not for Malfoy’s benefit. There was something wrong about an outsider like Malfoy, an enemy, witnessing and reveling in Ron’s tantrum.

But tonight Malfoy was not her enemy. He was her partner in crime. She would just have to see what Malfoy did with all the ammunition she handed him by bringing him home with her.

When Ginny did not provide any clarification about her cryptic statement, Ron turned to Malfoy and pointed at him. “You. Explain.”

He looked to Ginny for permission, and she shrugged.

“Your sister and I—” Ron visibly cringed at the way Malfoy lumped her in with him “—are fed up with how holidays cater to romantic couples. Why must we feel obligated to be in a relationship to celebrate annual milestones? We’re taking our lives into our own hands and refusing to succumb to what’s expected of us by holidating each other instead. No commitment, no romance, just two people celebrating the holidays single—together.”

Ginny nodded along, pretending they hadn’t rehearsed that speech prior to arriving.

Sporadic laughter broke out around the bonfire, but Ron was too outraged to join in. “That’s the most idiotic idea I’ve ever heard.”

“If I’d wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it before bringing Malfoy here.” Ginny grabbed Malfoy’s hand and stomped closer to the fire.

Ron leaned away from them as they passed, either because he could see he was starting to get on her nerves or to avoid Malfoy. Either way, he wisely stayed silent at Hermione’s gentle urging.

“There are sandwiches in the kitchen if you’re hungry, Ginny… er, Mr. Malfoy,” Molly said into the quiet.

“Draco, please,” Malfoy said. “And thank you. I’ve already eaten.”

“Drinks, too,” George called from the opposite side of the fire. “Why don’t you go fetch a bottle for us, Ginny Gin Gin.”

“A bottle of what?”

“Anything that’s there,” he replied with a grin.

Ginny rolled her eyes and then pulled Malfoy along behind her, missing the warmth as soon as she turned her back to the flames. Malfoy did not object to being dragged around by her, nor did he remove his mittened hand from hers. She was the one who let go as they turned the corner of the house, and her face heated because she knew the constant grabbing was unnecessary. She was just used to it. Taking Harry’s hand. Victoire’s. Dragging people wherever she needed them to go without a single complaint.

Malfoy hadn’t complained, either. Which was weird, right? Why was he being so polite? 

As they entered the Burrow through the kitchen, Malfoy said, “I think your brother might have had a few drinks already.”

“Nah,” she disagreed. “George doesn’t drink. He just wanted us to leave so they can all talk about us and get it out of their system before we go back.”

Malfoy looked down at her with a dubious arch of his brow. “Really?”

She nodded as she stuffed her mittens in her pocket to open the icebox and retrieve a platter of sandwiches. A quick inspection showed that only the cucumber ones were left, but she wasn’t going to turn down a snack, even if it was a slightly healthy one. Placing the platter on the table, she nodded at Malfoy. “Really really. You’ll see. They’ll all be much friendlier.”

“Even Ronaldo?”

Ginny paused mid-chew, and then she shook her head. “Except Ron. He’s a champion grudge-holder. One time he held a grudge against Hermione because he’d never snogged anyone and she had.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Malfoy took a seat at one of the remaining chairs around the table and placed a hand over his heart. “Holidate’s honor.”

She snorted. “Never mind. I know better than to trust you to keep that secret.”

She finished her sandwich in silence while Malfoy looked around, his attention catching on the clock on the wall with its one hand pointing at _Time for a snack._ Ginny’s heart jumped into her throat as it set in that _Draco Malfoy_ was sitting at the kitchen table at _the Burrow_. She’d brought him _home_ with her to meet her _family_. The hair on his head peeking out from his tobogan was shinier than any pot her mother used. He was as out of place in the comfortable, disorderly kitchen as Ginny was sure she would be in his family’s cold, ancient mansion.

If bringing him home wasn’t a Fuck You gesture, she didn’t know what was.

Part of her supposed she should feel bad for using him this way, but the truth of the matter was they’d agreed to use each other. Maybe she should feel bad for sticking him in the middle of a potentially awkward situation, but he’d agreed to come and had known what he was signing up for. Why did she want to feel bad at all? Maybe she was afraid of hurting Harry’s feelings. Her mum’s.

What about her feelings? Ginny didn’t want to think about those. Holidating wasn’t about feelings, after all. It was about convenience. Fun.

She nudged the platter towards Malfoy as she took another sandwich half. “Have a sandwich.”

His expression said he’d rather not. Maybe he’d only been polite when he’d told her mum he’d already eaten because he did take a sandwich and then stared at it in hesitation.

“Honestly, Malfoy, you don’t have to be scared of it. How could a cucumber sandwich taste bad?”

Distaste scrunched his nose. “What if the bread is moldy? What if the cucumbers aren’t crunchy?”

Ginny should not have been surprised by the insult, the insinuation that Ginny’s parents were too poor to eat unspoilt food. What actually surprised her, though, was that she’d forgotten what a privileged arse he was.

Harry entered the kitchen from the garden just then, saving Malfoy from a repeat of Ginny’s fourth-year Bat-Bogey Hex. She slid her hand out of her pocket and away from her wand even though the sight of Harry only made her want to hex someone even more.

Harry looked between her and Malfoy, who was now thoughtfully chewing the sandwich as though tasting a wine and did not react in the slightest to Harry’s presence. He dismissed Malfoy at once and turned to Ginny.

“Hullo there.”

“We’re busy,” Ginny said with her mouth full of sandwich.

Harry was not deterred. “Listen… can we go somewhere and talk?”

Ginny’s voice brightened to mask her growing displeasure. “About what?”

“I feel like you’re dating Malfoy because of me. Can we talk about that? Or would you rather have that conversation in front of him?”

The sarcasm in his tone made Ginny bristle and earned her full attention, but she did not let her frustration seep into her words. Doing so would reveal more of her feelings than necessary, and as stated before, there was no room for feelings in her holidates. Holidating was about hiding from her feelings. Hiding them from herself and everyone else.

“First of all, Malfoy and I aren’t dating. We’re holidating. Huge difference.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly unconvinced of the distinction between the two.

“Second,” she continued, “we’ve had plenty of opportunities to talk before tonight. And Christmas doesn’t count either! Holidays are not appropriate times for exes to discuss why their relationship failed.” Ginny said this with a sunny tone that tasted like rotten, mushy cucumbers. The smile she forced onto her lips was tight, but somehow she managed to send the smile all the way up to her eyes. All she had to do was pretend she was making a joke, because that’s exactly what this conversation was.

“Lastly,” she said as he opened his mouth with a rebuttal, “holidating Malfoy is barely about you, so please get your head out of your arse.”

Malfoy choked on a laugh, his hand rising to his mouth to prevent chewed up sandwich bits from spraying all over the table.

Ginny glanced at him and away, but Harry didn’t even turn his head. He stared her down, his emerald green eyes darting as if searching her face for the person he’d spent seven years of his life with. Why he wanted her was a mystery because he’d dumped that woman over two months ago, rejecting her and the life he would have had with her.

“You’re right. Now’s not a good time,” Harry finally said. He grabbed a bottle of champagne from the icebox and then left without another word.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Malfoy said with a sneer, “Not a good time? I think you made it clear that there will never be a good time.”

Ginny just sighed. She’d known since the moment he broke up with her—and then made an appearance at dinner at the Burrow the next weekend—that being around Harry, navigating sharing her family with him, would be difficult. That was why she’d avoided visiting the Burrow for so long. But she’d never expected Harry to make it harder for her on purpose. That only piled more hurt on top of his rejection.

Malfoy went to the icebox and retrieved another bottle of champagne. For a brief moment, Ginny wondered how many bottles George had supplied. Even though he didn’t drink, he had always been generous enough to provide for everyone else to drink to excess.

He pushed the bottle into Ginny’s chest, forcing her to take it from him. His voice lowered as their hands brushed during the exchange. “I don’t think I will ever forget you telling Potter to take his head out of his arse. To say witnessing it was a dream come true would be the understatement of a lifetime.”

Ginny’s cheeks heated at the way Malfoy looked at her, his gaze both too intense for her to endure and too intense to look away. Was he showering her with admiration, or was it just her imagination?

He stepped away, giving Ginny a reprieve from the intensity. “It’s about time someone—besides me, that is—put Potter in his place.”

She smiled a little, buoyed by his praise. Maybe it was wrong to agree with him, but Harry had hurt her feelings—the very feelings she was trying so hard to ignore—and maybe he deserved to have uncharitable thoughts said aloud about him.

“Shall we return to the others?” she said.

Malfoy gestured toward the door, inviting her to lead the way.

As they returned to the bonfire, the rest of the family was back in the good spirits she and Malfoy had originally found them in. George stood on the far side of the fire again, away from everyone else, amusing all with his whizbangs. One shot up into the air with a whistling screech and dissolved with a bang into a dramatic shower of sparks shaped like… well. It looked like it was supposed to take shape but hadn’t quite managed it. A mountainous blob separated and disappeared. Ginny’s family laughed, and she along with them.

“What was that supposed to be?” she asked.

George joined them again at the fire, smiling widely. “That was supposed to turn into a dragon, but I couldn’t get the spells right. Actually, all of tonight’s whizbangs are failed test products.”

_“WHAT!”_ Molly stood up from her chair, the laughter dying on her outraged face. “I thought these were jokes! Are you testing products on us? _What have I told you—_ ”

“Mum! Relax! The explosives in these are perfectly safe! It’s just the effect that doesn’t work—”

“ _Do not tell me to relax, George Weasley, when you know very well how I feel about—_ ”

Ginny led Malfoy away from the tirade, knowing it could go on for a while. Instead, she took him to the orchard, where the trees stood naked under the moonlight. They could still hear Molly going off like a whizbang, but the words were muffled among the trees.

Ginny stopped and leaned against a bare trunk, lifting the bottle of champagne to her mouth and then handing it over to Malfoy. He hesitated for a second, but then he took a large swig from the bottle before returning it.

“Ours now,” Ginny said. A shiver wracked her body, made her teeth clatter.

“Is this how you normally celebrate New Year’s Eve? Drinking in an orchard?” Some of the moonlight filtered through the leafless limbs, striping Malfoy with milky light and shadows. His face benefited from the darkness, allowing him to hide.

The moonlight was almost blinding to Ginny, so she knew her own face was exposed.

She shook her head in reply. “Normally I’d be by the fire sitting right next to Harry. Sometimes I’d sit in his lap.”

He grunted, and Ginny could only imagine the disgust that crossed his face. The thought of it made her grin.

“And now this year you’re alone.”

“Not alone,” she said with another shake of her head. She took another sip from the bottle, her grip on the neck tight so it wouldn’t slip out of her mittened hands. “This year I’m with you.”

Malfoy took the bottle from her without waiting for her to offer it. Liquid sloshed against the glass as he drank.

“Still sounds like a pity party to me.”

Ginny laughed. He wasn’t wrong. “If we finish this bottle, I promise tonight will turn into a different kind of party.”

“I thought you said we weren’t going to have sex with each other?”

His voice was low and as dark as the shadows that obscured him. The sound of it curled in her belly, making her still, making her hot. Her breath puffed out of her like the firework dragon that had failed to appear.

Then he shifted, turned his head, and enough moonlight illuminated his expression to reveal the laugh that hung on his lips.

She punched him, relief and confusion racing through her veins. “You prat. You know what I meant.”

They traded the bottle back and forth between them, drinking it faster once they descended into silence. The quiet between them should have been awkward. They barely knew each other, and what they did know of each other was fraught with history. But Ginny felt comfortable in the orchard outside her childhood home, not-speaking with Malfoy as they shared the consumption of an entire bottle of champagne. This was exactly what she’d hoped for when she overheard Parkinson explaining holidates to him in Madam Malkin’s shop last week. It was also more than she’d expected.

The bottle was almost empty, and Molly’s voice had died down, replaced with laughter and conversation again. Ginny checked her watch. Nearly midnight.

“Ready to go back?”

“You’re the captain of this ship.”

As she shoved off her tree and started moving, the alcohol began to take effect, making the ground uneven, the landscape wavy. The cold barely touched her anymore, her thick jumper and good cloak a little stifling now.

“What would you have done tonight if you weren’t here?” she asked over her shoulder. Malfoy didn’t look unsteady in the slightest. Bastard.

“The Parkinsons throw a party every New Years to find someone to marry Pansy off to. I would have gone to that.”

Ginny frowned. “That sounds awful.” She’d overheard Parkinson mention her mother’s desire for her to marry, but she’d assumed her mother was at the same level as Ginny’s. Then again, wasn’t Ginny holidating Malfoy because she was afraid Molly would try to keep pushing her back together with Harry? Maybe their mothers were more alike than she initially thought.

“Pansy would agree,” Malfoy replied.

When they returned to her family, more chairs had been retrieved from the kitchen, completing the circle around the fire. Ginny took the chair next to George, leaving Malfoy with the chair between her and Arthur. Verity handed them blankets to spread out over their laps.

“So… Draco. What do you do for a living?” Arthur asked. The question stopped all conversation as everyone turned to see how Malfoy would answer.

Like in the kitchen, Ginny was having a moment of clarity and alarm. She could clearly envision a zoomed-out image of the scene. Her whole family sitting cozily around a fire waiting to countdown to the new year, and then her dad asking Draco Malfoy of all people a mundane but absurd question in the spirit of small talk. If she could time travel to a week ago and tell herself before entering Madam Malkin’s shop that this is what she would be doing on New Year’s Eve, her past self would have thought her future self drunk. And Ginny was a little drunk... just drunk enough to release an involuntary giggle.

No one even looked at Ginny. Arthur’s question was indeed funny.

Malfoy seemed more confused than amused, though. “I don’t understand the question.”

“What career path are you in? What’s your job? How do you make money?” Verity supplied helpfully.

Malfoy’s brow creased over the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need to do anything to make money. I’m rich.”

“Ahhhh, I see,” George said with an understanding nod. “You’re a deadbeat.”

“He’s a git is what he is,” Ron grumbled.

Ginny nudged Malfoy with her elbow, looking at him meaningfully.

“What?”

“Don’t forget our rules,” she hissed, her words intended only for him.

“I’m not breaking the rules. I answered a question.”

Ginny was skeptical, but Malfoy’s confusion did somehow seem genuine.

Maybe he wasn’t trying to annoy her family on purpose. Maybe he truly didn’t need to work. As unfathomable as a job was to him, not having one was just as unfathomable to Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys. What must it be like to be so rich that you never had to worry about feeding or clothing yourself or your family? Never had to scrape and sacrifice to meet your needs?

Ginny’s Quidditch career offered her more independence than she ever dreamed of and allowed her to treat herself to nice meals and good Quidditch equipment every now and then. It allowed her to pay Madam Malkin to tailor her Quidditch kit instead of cleaning and mending it herself. But she knew if something ever happened to her career, she would not last long before her funds began to run dry. Some months. Maybe a year.

She loved Quidditch, but she would like it even more if her success in matches did not determine whether she continued to make money playing it.

Hermione piped in then. “If you don’t work, what do you do everyday? What motivates you to get out of bed in the morning? Don’t you have a passion or a hobby?”

“Being an evil git is his hobby,” Ron said, and Ginny did not miss Harry’s mouth twitching as he contained a laugh.

Malfoy’s confused expression only deepened. He didn’t answer, but his mouth transformed into different shapes while considering the question, which was proof enough that he had never been asked such a question before.

George snorted. “Must be nice. If I had even a fraction of your money, I’d use it open that second shop that Fred and I talked about. I’d hire more staff. Maybe then I’d have enough time and money to ramp up production of new products.” He prodded the basket at his feet, which was full of the whizbangs he had ignited earlier.

Ginny wondered if he’d brought them because he couldn’t afford not to sell the products that worked.

But George was smiling. When he’d spoken, there had been no bitterness in his voice. So was George actually struggling or was he simply dreaming of more? He’d never given any suggestion before that Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes was in trouble. And he was always so generous with his money with the family. So what was true?

Malfoy had given George his complete attention, and now he looked at Ginny with a frown. He cleared his throat. “Er. Could I use the loo?”

Ginny nearly jumped out of her chair to escort him inside, part of her dying to know what Malfoy was thinking and part of her wanting to escape the heavy air that her dad’s innocent question had caused. But that was silly, so she told him where to locate the bathroom inside, and he handed the nearly empty bottle of champagne back to her as he took off, out of the circle of chairs and into the darkness.

The conversation had already moved on, George’s levity providing just the right tone to change the subject instead of dwelling on something none of them could change about their circumstances.

Harry’s eyes were on her, and Ginny lifted the bottle to her lips to avoid his gaze. He had inherited money, too. Maybe not as much as the Malfoys, but enough not to worry. His parents had left him with a secure future while Ginny’s parents’ own futures were only now becoming secure thanks to all of their children growing up and moving out on their own.

She finished the bottle, wanting to drown out the negative emotions swelling inside her. It had been so long since she’d felt resentment at what her parents hadn’t been able to give her. Thinking about it now was pointless because Ginny was doing so well for herself in a career she loved. Her whole family was taken care of now. It didn’t matter that Malfoy could never understand their struggle.

Verity looked up from George’s wrist. “Oh! It’s 11:59! George, the sparklies!”

They rummaged in the basket at their feet for a handful of long, thin sticks that they passed around to everyone, leaving one on Malfoy’s vacant seat. Then they instructed everyone to touch the tip of the stick with the tip of their wands, and the sticks came to life, multi-colored sparks emitting from the tip in a contained ball of sparks. Hermione and Harry waved the sticks in front of their faces, drawing shapes and writing words in the air as they laughed. Ron copied them in amazement.

“Did you get the idea from Muggles?” Hermione asked.

George grinned. “I get quite a few of my ideas from Muggles, if you can believe it.”

When it was time, Arthur began the countdown. “Ten!”

Everyone else joined in promptly on “Nine!”

“Eight!”

“Seven!”

Ginny searched the darkness beyond the bonfire, but no figure emerged into the light.

“Six!”

“Five!”

She waved her sparkly and marveled at the tiny firework in her hands. Like an explosion lolly.

“Four!”

“Three!”

She scanned their surroundings one more time. Empty.

“Two!”

“One…. HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

“Harry Nem Yeet!” George cried a beat after everyone else.

And then all the couples were kissing, and there was nowhere Ginny could look safely without being confronted by her parents, or George and Verity, or Ron and Hermione. Sitting in a circle meant she was surrounded by happy couples.

Except Harry. Though if he was uncomfortable, he hid his discomfort well. He stared directly at her and Ginny stared back. She prayed to whichever gods were listening that he could not see the longing that she felt in her heart.

Malfoy returned just as the couples were pulling away, and his gaze swung around before landing on Ginny.

He sighed as he sat down. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

And then he did something awkward and inexplicable and somehow sweet and leaned over to kiss Ginny on the cheek. She stared at him as he pulled away, but he diligently rearranged the blanket on his lap, avoiding her stare entirely.

Maybe it was the warmth from the fire, maybe it was a consequence of the champagne, but Malfoy’s cheeks were pink. She didn’t think she was imagining the color that flared there.

The evening wrapped up not long after that, but both of them were quiet throughout the rest of it. Ginny didn’t know the reason behind Malfoy’s silence. For herself, she couldn’t stop thinking about him apologizing for missing the countdown kiss.

Or stop imagining what might have happened if he’d made it back in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on chapter four, so if I finish in time for Valentine's Day, I'll post it day-of. If not, I'll have it posted before February ends!


	4. Valentine's Day 2006

  
  


**  
_Valentine's Day 2006_   
**

“Valentine’s Day is only a few days away. Just owl her already,” Pansy said from Draco’s favorite armchair by the fire. It was the one closest to the window but best suited for protection against a draft because of the way Draco kept it angled. And Pansy was sitting in it.

She put her feet up on his favorite ottoman, the fire warming her stockinged feet.

Draco sat on the loveseat across from the chair, which was not nearly as comfortable or warm. The draft from the window funneled underneath the legs of his favorite chair and ottoman, hitting Draco’s feet directly. Not even wool socks and soft slippers could warm his toes.

“I don’t have any social plans. I assume if she hasn’t written, she must not have any plans, either.”

Pansy took a bite from a strawberry that she’d retrieved from his kitchen upon arrival. She slouched in Draco’s chair, a whole bowl of strawberries resting on her stomach as if it was her chair and they were her strawberries.

“But you don’t know. Didn’t you agree to be holidates for a year? You should check in.”

Draco could barely think about Valentine’s Day when he was still processing New Year’s Eve. Namely, Weasley’s face when he’d returned from the loo, like she was a lost kitten in need of a home. She and Potter had been staring intently at each other, but his expression had been sorry, not sorrowful. All around them, the rest of Weasley’s family was snogging the daylights out of their significant others, and it was not hard to deduce that their happiness made Weasley feel insignificant.

Draco should have been there when the clock struck midnight, to kiss her like Potter had never seen her be kissed before. Maybe the desire he’d felt at the thought of those plump lips on his was a selfish manifestation of the realization that he’d missed an opportunity to stick one to Potter. But he didn’t care if he broke Holidating Rule #1. Potter had let Weasley go, and Draco wanted to rub it in his face that _he_ had her now.

It was a stupid thought. Why would Potter care who had her when he didn’t want her in the first place? Still, there was an immature side of Draco that wanted to take everything Harry Potter had and twist it until it was his.

Pansy stood and went to Draco’s desk, the bowl of strawberries perched between her arm and her waist as she rummaged through his papers and drawers.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for a quill and parchment. If you won’t write to Weasley, I will.”

Draco was too cold to move any further away from the fire, and, anyway, Pansy would do whatever she wanted in spite of Draco’s wishes. She’d already made herself at home in his flat, eating his strawberries, sitting in his... chair… which was now vacant— 

He jumped up and threw himself into the chair, stretching his long legs out onto the ottoman. A sigh escaped his lips as the heat from the fireplace finally warmed him and the superior angle of the furniture thwarted the draft. He leaned over the arm to see what Pansy was doing at his desk. A strawberry sat between her lips as she dipped a quill into a well of ink.

“Find what you were looking for?”

“Always do.”

“Don’t you think she’ll know I didn’t write the letter once she sees the handwriting?”

“You tell me,” she said as she brought the slip of parchment to Draco.

He glanced up at her as he took it to find a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

The parchment merely read, _Be my valentine?_ but the handwriting was nearly spot on. The flourish in the Y was a bit more exaggerated than Draco’s Ys, and the loop of her L was a little wider than Draco wrote his.

Draco arched a brow. “Why did you—”

“It is so very nice of you to invite me out every night. You have saved me from many a lecture about matrimony.” Pansy sat on the arm of his chair inspecting her fingernails with nonchalance.

She spoke with such assurance that for a moment, Draco forgot that he had not sent the invitations that she implied he did. Oh, he certainly invited her over or out for dinner every once in a while. Not nightly, though. Clearly she’d taken advantage of an established behavior to create an opportunity to miss meals with her parents. From what Draco knew of the Parkinsons’ desire to see their daughter wed, he could not fault her for forging letters from him.

“So?” she said, meeting Draco’s arched brow with one of her own.

“It’s fine work. The message is a little cliche… but go ahead and send it.”

Pansy squealed with glee and jumped to her feet before she went to the window to whistle for Draco’s eagle owl. Not even the angle of Draco’s favorite armchair could save him from the wind that came inside with the owl.

She attached the note, locked up the window, and returned to the fireside, this time taking a seat on the loveseat Draco had vacated. Instead of sitting on it like a normal human being, she draped herself over it, her feet dangling off one arm, her head pillowed on the other. The piece was an antique from an unused parlor at Malfoy Manor. Draco couldn’t imagine she was comfortable. If she wasn’t, she did not let on. 

She offered Draco one of his own strawberries, and he accepted it. He rarely cooked, but he kept his kitchen stocked with all manner of sweet things. If Weasley had been horrified by his ice cream sundae on Boxing Day, the sight of his pantry might give her a heart attack. Surely she could not object to some healthy fruits, though?

The thought of her only reminded him of New Year’s Eve again and how the night hadn’t gone how he’d expected. Weasley’s—er, her brother, Ron’s—outburst at their arrival had been what he imagined the entire evening would be like, with even more outrage and Potter pouting. Weasley’s prediction had come true when she’d said her family would be friendlier to him after they returned from the kitchen, so the outrage he’d anticipated had not manifested. And while Potter had seemed a bit put out by Draco’s presence, there had been no indication he’d been jealous or upset for Weasley’s sake.

The conversation about what Draco did for a living had also been unexpected and surprisingly thought-provoking. The questions from Weasley’s father, from Granger, had left him feeling hollow and useless. Draco had been raised to believe in his own importance. The idea that he was useless did not sit well with him. And while he saw absolutely no reason to work when he didn’t need to make money to live, he did understand the theory that people needed a purpose, something to do to make life worth living.

Even his father had had occupations. Maybe not for monetary compensation, but power, influence. His role on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, his work funding different projects and legislation at the Ministry that would favor the Malfoys’ values—those endeavors had taken up his father’s time even if they had not increased the Malfoy wealth. Draco could do something like that, couldn’t he?

He didn’t work because the money he’d inherited from his grandparents made money from compound interest by just sitting in a Gringotts vault. He would inherit more when his parents passed on. So what was Draco’s purpose? Why _did_ he get out of bed in the morning?

He hadn’t known the answer on New Year’s Eve, and he still didn’t know it now, which was unsettling. Draco didn’t like not knowing something about himself. Now that this question had been brought to his attention, he was determined to find an answer. His preoccupation with the mystery nearly eclipsed his thoughts about the opportunity he’d missed with Weasley on New Year’s Eve. However, both thoughts had been distracting enough in the week and a half since he’d left her parents’ house.

Draco wasn’t sure if he could say New Year’s Eve had been _fun_ , but he _had_ enjoyed Weasley’s company, even the silent moments in the orchard, passing a bottle of champagne back and forth in the dark.

Without thinking, his fingers came up to his lips, brushing against them as he thought about Weasley’s lips against the opening of the bottle, and then Draco placing his lips over the same opening, indirectly kissing each other through the champagne. If he’d returned from the loo in time, Draco might now know what it was like to press his lips against hers, no bottle between them.

A tapping from the window drew him from his reverie. As he glanced up, Pansy was staring at him, a feral smile on her face. She jumped up to let the owl in before Draco could, and then a moment later, she tossed a copy of today’s Daily Prophet into his lap.

Upon unfolding it, he was accosted by a large photo of Potter outside a fine dining establishment in Diagon Alley, his head bent over the petite form of a dark-haired woman. A moment later he straightened, revealing Cho Chang smiling up at him like he had saved the world with his kiss or some shite.

A speculative article had been written about Potter’s new relationship with Chang, and as expected, Weasley was mentioned multiple times. Draco read through the garbage—how had this drivel made the front page?—his stomach tightening into a denser knot the more he read. He lowered the newspaper and met Pansy’s curious gaze.

“I suppose she’s not interested in celebrating Valentine’s Day this year.”

Pansy placed the nearly empty bowl of strawberries on the table next to the loveseat and crossed her arms over her chest. “Did she put a notice in the newspaper to tell you that?”

He flashed the photo at her and then explained. “It seems Potter’s got himself a new girlfriend. Not only is she one of his exes, she’s also a Quidditch player, like Weasley. A Seeker, like Potter. And… her team beat Weasley’s in their last match on Saturday.”

“Even more reason for her to get out there on Valentine’s Day! To spite Potter and his new old girlfriend!”

Draco didn’t necessarily disagree, but how would they celebrate? Attend a couples event where they would be surrounded by real couples sickeningly in love with each other? Have dinner together so she could spend her evening with someone with whom she had nothing in common? Anything they could do would just serve as a reminder that no one was in love with either of them. Maybe they’d be together, but after one holidate, they weren’t friends and going out with each other would probably result in a stilted and miserable evening.

Although, the time they’d spent alone together on New Year’s Eve hadn’t been stilted or miserable… but Valentine’s Day was different.

He went to his desk to compose a reply. Before he could think of something to say, another owl tapped against his window. He didn’t recognize it, but when he removed the letter attached to its leg, all became clear.

_Sorry, I sent the attachment before I finished my letter. Your owl is very impatient, did you know?_

Draco looked over to Pollux, who was stoically receiving head scratches from Pansy by the fire.

_If you’re asking me on a holidate for Valentine’s Day, I’m not in the mood. I have practice that morning, and I plan on spending my night gorging myself on chocolate and alcohol against my nutritionist’s orders. See previous attachment for my lack of Valentine’s cheer._

Well, Draco had no particular feelings about Valentine’s Day, so if she wanted to skip the holiday, that was fine by him.

 _Still on for the next holiday then?_ he scrawled on a slip of parchment before sending Weasley’s owl off into the sunset with it. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to ask. It had been her idea to remain holidates for the entire year. Ignoring one holiday didn’t mean she wanted to ignore the rest.

But that conversation from New Year’s Eve continued to torment him in the back of his mind, making his thoughts race. No one except Ron Weasley had acted resentful toward Draco when they had discussed his lack of a career, but he still wondered whether Weasley regretted entering into this arrangement with him. Perhaps that night had reminded her of how different they each were, how little they had in common, or how fraternizing with him could tarnish her own reputation or values. He wouldn’t blame her if she chose to end their agreement, but he would certainly be annoyed. All that introspection he’d endured for nothing.

“What are you thinking about?” Pansy asked with an exasperated sigh, just as Draco realized she’d been speaking to him this entire time and he hadn’t heard a single word. “No, I know exactly what you’re thinking about.”

“I am _not_ thinking about Ginny Weasley,” Draco grumbled.

Pansy feigned shock, wide eyes, hand on her chest as if he’d accused her of something completely out of character. “I was merely going to say you must be wondering what Astoria is going to do when she finds out you sold her custom robe for eleven Sickles. But since you mentioned Weasley, that must be where your thoughts truly lie.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

“You’ve been distracted all afternoon, even before I sent that owl, and you mean to tell me the reason isn’t because of a Weasley? Any Weasley? A particular Weasley?”

“If you’re in the mood for conversation, why don’t you go home and talk to your mother?”

Pansy’s lips pressed together into a thin line, the humor on her face dissipating. She stood up, her eyes lowering to the floor. “You’re in a sour mood. And you’re not my only friend who will let me hide at their place to avoid my parents.” She donned her cloak and gloves, which she’d thrown carelessly over his desk chair upon her arrival a few hours ago, and her shoes, which she’d left next to the door. Before she exited his study, she threw over her shoulder, “You’re just my favorite one.”

The door closed behind her with a forceful click.

Draco groaned and pressed his palms into his eyes, shame creeping up his neck in the form of heat. Pansy hadn’t deserved that from him. In fact, if he’d let her, she might have been able to help him parse through the confusing thoughts Weasley had inspired surrounding jobs and privilege and kisses. She would have been insufferable about it, but in the end her advice might have been useful. Hadn’t she been right about Draco holidating after all?

Well, he supposed that still remained to be seen.

Speaking of his holidate, a tap at his window interrupted his thoughts, Weasley’s owl flapping against the glass. The bird allowed him to retrieve Weasley’s reply just before swooping into the corner of the room to huddle against a skeptical Pollux.

_We are absolutely on for the next holiday. Holidate’s honor. Also, why did your handwriting suddenly change?_

Draco smiled at the parchment, glad that no one except the owls were there to witness his relief.

* * *

On Valentine’s Day, the streets of Hogsmeade were drenched from the morning downpour, and a chill wind buffeted against Draco. The storm had stopped hours ago, but it had left behind puddles. Draco was glad he’d worn his best pair of boots, which were his favorite and oldest pair. Puddle hopping was much easier in comfortable shoes.

High Street was nearly deserted except for the occasional couple promenading the wet street arm in arm, either on their way to or departing from a dinner reservation.

Draco had no such plans, of course. He hadn’t heard from Weasley since the weekend, when she’d declined to make holidating plans with him. Instead, he was on his way to Honeydukes for his favorite Valentine’s Day pastime: shopping clearance sales. All of the sweets marketed specifically for Valentine’s Day went on sale promptly at 6pm, an hour before Honeydukes closed, and Draco got a special thrill each year out of buying out the rest of the holiday stock at a discount price.

One year, a forgetful man had run into the shop looking for a last-minute Valentine’s Day gift for his significant other and instead had watched in dismay as Draco purchased every last piece of Valentine’s Day themed chocolate. That night, Draco had shared his chocolate with Pansy as they laughed together at the thought of the man returning to his partner with generic sweets instead. That had been a good day.

The sale wasn’t what mattered to him. His Gringotts vault hardly noticed the difference between discounted and full-price chocolate. But it did feel a bit like winning the jackpot to return home with enough sweets to last him a month for less than half the price, even if he had to pay for the prize anyway. He could practically taste the caramel-centered chocolate bonbons that were his favorite treat to himself whenever he visited Honeydukes.

His daydreaming of chocolates was cut short when a burst of wind sent a flash of red flailing in the light that emanated onto the street from Honeydukes’ shop front. At first he thought it was a scarf, but a second glance revealed Weasley’s notorious red hair gathered in a ponytail on top of her notorious head, thrashing in the wind. And she was not alone.

Bathed in light from Honeydukes, Weasley was clear as day even though night had fallen. Her cloak billowed around her, revealing the muddy Quidditch kit she was wearing. Her companions had their backs to Draco, their identities hidden, though he thought one was a man and one a woman. Hard to tell in their layered clothing. What he could see was the panic on Weasley’s face, her wide eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the way she clutched her shopping bag in her arms and clenched her jaw. The tension in her frame was palpable and made Draco’s muscles ache worse than the cold, wet weather did.

He drew closer but slowed down, raising his arm in a half-wave to get Weasley’s attention so he wouldn’t catch her off guard.

“Look who it is!” she said, her voice overly bright, her eyes just as shiny.

Her companions turned and Draco suddenly understood her distress. She had been spotted and stopped by Potter and his new girlfriend, Chang, and she had no idea how to extricate herself from the situation.

Draco’s whole body straightened as he pushed his shoulders back. She had not communicated that she needed anything from him, or that she was even happy to see him, but he saw it all in her eyes. She needed a lifeline and someone to tow her out of the choppy seas and back to dry land.

There was no dry land here, but she had her holidate.

Potter frowned as Draco approached, and then he frowned harder when Draco wrapped an arm around Weasley’s shoulder and pulled her into his side.

“There you are, bugaboo.” Draco smiled his most obnoxious smile, and Chang looked back and forth between them, her sharp fringe unable to hide the confused crease in her brow. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

Weasley laughed, the sound shrill and unnatural. Draco squeezed her tighter.

“Not at all! I… I was just buying you a gift. Sorry… last minute….” Her voice wandered off, losing confidence.

Draco played along because Potter was watching. Hell, he probably would have played along no matter who was watching, but the fact that it was Potter motivated Draco to lay it on thick.

“You didn’t have to get me anything, angel. I was just on my way to buy _you_ a treat.” And then Draco did something so out of character, so ridiculous, so humiliating.... He booped her nose.

Booped. Her. Nose. With the sound effect and everything. Except he was wearing mittens, so it looked more like he’d honked her nose instead.

Weasley was so distracted by what he’d done, bewilderment replaced the panicked expression. Her mouth fell open in shock.

Draco smiled widely and turned to Potter and Chang, who were staring with matching expressions of perturbation. “Do you have Valentine’s Day plans, too?”

“Uhhh….” Chang said before looking at Potter as if she was ready to leave immediately.

Draco stroked Weasley’s ponytail. His other arm was still around her shoulder, so they were practically embracing. “We have big plans, don’t we, duck?”

The way Draco held her, his shoulders blocked Potter from view. Something about the booping and the stroking seemed to bring her back to life because her body loosened and when she met Draco’s gaze, the tension in her forehead was gone and she managed to blink away the shininess in her eyes.

“So many plans,” she said, turning a determined gaze onto Potter and his girlfriend. “The kind of plans that last all night long.”

Considering Draco’s previous Valentine’s plans had included eating chocolate in front of the fire with a novel, his night was looking up. Then he thought about what kind of all night plans might include chocolate _and_ Weasley and his whole body stiffened and grew warm. His heart pounded in his chest. It was a joke. He knew this was all a joke to get under Potter’s skin, but damn if the idea hadn’t gotten under Draco’s in the most pleasant and torturous way.

“Oh!” Chang gasped, her confused stare from earlier transforming into curiosity.

Potter’s mouth tightened. “I thought you two weren’t dating.”

“Who says you need to date someone to have sex with them?” Weasley snapped.

The way she said the word _sex_ slithered down Draco’s spine and pooled in his gut. He gulped and stopped stroking Weasley’s hair, but he didn’t release her from his side.

“You know, that’s how Harry and I started dating,” Chang said. “It was just sex at first, but after a month of that, we realized how much we loved spending time together _not_ having sex, too. It was sweet.” She smiled up at Potter, whose expression would have been comical if Weasley hadn’t gone so completely still. Her stillness trembled its way through their point of contact at her shoulder, up Draco’s arm, making alarm bells sound inside his head.

He could have hexed Chang. And he wasn’t sure if she was being cruel on purpose or just oblivious. It didn’t matter; she deserved to be hexed for being so stupid.

Draco took control of the situation before anyone else opened their mouths and made it worse. He didn’t look at Weasley, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she was struggling to respond. He plastered a smile on his face, the smirky kind Potter would probably despise.

“It sounds like we all have busy plans for tonight,” he said dryly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’d rather be fucking my holidate’s brains out than standing here talking to either of you.”

As Draco pulled Weasley out of Honeydukes’ light, away from Potter and Chang, back down High Street in the direction from which he’d arrived, he realized not one word of what he’d said had been a lie. The sexual attraction was there, whether Weasley wanted it or not, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not. It didn’t matter that he felt a connection with her, though. Holidate Rule #3 had been her idea. The chances of Weasley accepting or reciprocating his attraction were not just low, they were non-existent. That was exactly why they’d come to this agreement, because Weasley _wouldn’t_ get the wrong idea about what he wanted from her.

But what did he want from her?

“Where are we going?” she demanded after a minute or so of walking. She tugged her hand out of his grip and stopped.

Draco turned, looking around them for inspiration. He hadn’t had a destination in mind; his only thought had been to get her away.

“Well, Madam Puddifoot’s is in the opposite direction, so I suppose we’re going to Memorial Park instead.”

She glared at him. “Your choices were Madam Puddifoot’s or the Shrieking Shack?”

He smiled without humor. “The only choice I made was to get you as far away from Potter as I could. I wasn’t thinking about where we were going.”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Oh.” After a moment, she repeated, “Memorial Park?”

Draco shrugged, feeling silly now. Near the Shrieking Shack, a piece of land had been cleared out to erect a monument in honor of those who’d fought at the Battle of Hogwarts eight years ago. The citizens of Hogsmeade had raised the funds for the park and named it themselves. As one of the aggressors at that battle, of course Draco shouldn’t go there. It would be insulting to step foot on land marked to honor heroes.

“There isn’t much on that end of High Street. Memorial Park, the station, The Three Broomsticks….”

“No, it’s perfect,” she insisted. “No one will be there in this weather.”

Her hand swung toward Draco as if she meant to grab his, but then she jerked it away, tucking it into the pocket of her cloak instead. A pang of disappointment speared through him, but he tried not to think about it as he followed her.

Just as she’d hoped, Memorial Park was deserted. The gazebo that had been built in memory of the battle was the only dry spot in all of Hogsmeade. Its wooden beams were wrapped with vines that sprouted tiny white flowers, even on a freezing, February night, making it look like an oasis, a place of respite from the cold. Stairs led up to the gazebo, and a bench ran along the inside edge of it. In the center, a blue fire burned on a bed of untouched coal, undaunted by the wet weather. The fire had burned non-stop since the day Memorial Park had been inaugurated, symbolizing the fire that had burned in the hearts of those who had fought and prevailed at the battle. Or something equally as shitey. Draco wasn’t really sure what the flames represented.

They climbed the stairs and both of them sighed as soon as they were under the gazebo’s roof. The fire not only kept the gazebo dry, but warm, too.

Weasley took a seat and set her shopping bag beside her before removing her mittens. Draco sat a couple feet away from her, the bag between them as a barrier. His own mittens and scarf came off now that they were sheltered from the weather. They stretched their legs out toward the fire, trying to dry their wet clothes.

“What’s in the bag?” Draco asked.

Her cheeks reddened, but she nudged the bag toward him for his inspection.

He smiled when he discovered boxes of clearance chocolates from Honeydukes.

“Hey!” Weasley said, reaching over the gulf between them for the box that Draco had just opened.

Draco snatched it away and popped a bonbon into his mouth. “Rescuing you ruined my Valentine’s Day plans. The least you could do is share your chocolate as repayment for my kindness.”

She made a face while he spoke with his mouth full, but maybe she conceded to his logic because she slumped against the back of the bench and crossed her arms over her chest. Gulping, she said without looking away from the blue flames, “Valentine’s Day plans, huh? Did you find yourself another holidate?”

Draco pulled a sack of chocolate tadpoles out of the shopping bag and sat it on top of the bonbon box. “What? No, of course not. Every Valentine’s Day, I buy out Honeydukes’ stock of Valentine chocolate. This year, I didn’t even make it inside the shop.” He sighed loudly. Then he scooped a handful of wiggly tadpoles out of the sack and stuffed them in his mouth.

Weasley frowned at him, but she didn’t stop him from consuming her sweets. When Draco held the sack out to her—offering it to her the same way Pansy had offered him his own strawberries mere days ago—she took a few and let him keep the rest.

The thought of Pansy made Draco’s stomach sour. She hadn’t come back around since storming out of his flat that weekend, which made him think she wasn’t going to sweep this argument under the rug like she usually did. Draco was always saying something unnecessarily mean when she pushed him too far, but she also always forgave him to the extent that the next time he saw her, she’d be her usual self again and they would just pretend it never happened. If she wasn’t going to let his words go, then that meant Draco would have to… apologize.

The tadpoles turned into a lump in Draco’s throat. He swallowed it with difficulty and then returned the chocolates to Weasley’s shopping bag, his appetite gone. He sat in the silence, brooding at the flames like Weasley, until she broke the silence with a hesitant question.

“Can I ask you something? About what you said back there… to Harry?”

Draco sighed again. “I know I broke the first rule of holidating, but I was following your lead and Potter deserved it.”

“The first rule?”

“Thou shalt not provoke thy family and friends. But is he even your friend anymore? He’s certainly not your family.”

Weasley blinked her large brown eyes at him, and Draco swore he could see the reflection of the flames in them. His heart beat hard in his chest, wondering what he’d done wrong besides the obvious, wondering if this was something else he needed to apologize for even though he _really_ didn’t want to because he’d meant everything he’d said.

“Right,” Weasley said slowly. “The first rule.” She seemed mystified at first, and then she lowered her eyes, turned her head.

Draco leaned forward, trying to capture her gaze again so he could try to interpret her reaction. He didn’t understand it. “Did you think I was serious about wanting to shag you?”

That question got her looking at him again, her impossibly large eyes widening even more. “Of course not! That would be—I mean, that’s just—”

“Absurd,” Draco finished, relieved that she hadn’t seen through him to the truth he’d accidentally spilled to Potter and his girlfriend.

She laughed, and it was a little loud and wild. “Absurd! Exactly! As if we—”

“Right! Us! Shagging! It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said!”

“The most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!” she agreed.

Draco forced out a laugh. “As if _I_ , a Malfoy, would ever willingly shag you.”

“Right back at you!” she threw back at him, the cheer in her voice just a little too cheery.

Silence descended as quickly as the laughter and agreements had, and Draco couldn’t help but feel like he’d said the wrong thing again.

Which didn’t make any sense, because Weasley was the one who had put that boundary up between them, ensuring they could not confuse what holidating meant to them. So if she had been so determined not to have sex with Draco a month and a half ago, why did she seem offended now?

Maybe he’d imagined her reaction, because she sat up straight and looked at Draco again, and any sign that he might have even potentially hurt her feelings somehow was gone.

“Don’t worry about the rules—I mean, the first rule! This time! Don’t worry about breaking the rule this time. Even though Harry hurt me, I can’t make a clean break with him, and for my family’s sake, I don’t want to. Harry and I are just going to have to learn how to be around each other. Maybe we can even be friends again one day. But….”

She looked around the gazebo, but searching for what, Draco didn’t know. He was starting to think he would never truly understand this woman. Maybe it was better if he didn’t. He still didn’t know what kind of cat person she was—the normal, well-adjusted kind or a sad, weird one. He feared once he knew that, he’d know everything he needed to know about her. No, ignorance was bliss in her case, he decided.

Finally, she focused her attention back on him, and Draco’s heart stuttered. No one except Pansy had ever looked at him the way Weasley was looking at him now, and Pansy had only looked at him like this when they were young and foolish, before they’d figured out that she and Draco made awful lovers and better friends.

Weasley released a breath, and with it went her tension. “Thank you for standing up for me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate having someone on my side. Even if… even if you’re just pretending to be on my side because you know I’m not on Harry’s side anymore…. It was nice to feel like you were in my corner anyway.”

“It shouldn’t be a game of sides, winner and loser. I doubt anyone in your life sees it like that.”

“Maybe.”

But she seemed doubtful. As if after seven years together, she had nothing to offer her friends or family without Potter on her arm. It reminded Draco of Pansy and how little her parents valued her while she remained unmarried. It was wrong and it angered him more than he could say, but what he couldn’t say was why he cared so much about Weasley’s wellbeing after this breakup. If he’d been interested in Potter’s pain, that would be one thing. Watching Harry Potter lose at the game of life was Draco’s very favorite pastime, especially since he always found a way to beat the odds and turn himself back into a winner. But Draco had spent more time thinking about how Potter’s ex-girlfriend was holding up rather than Potter himself. It was… disturbing, attraction or no.

Instead of thinking about that, Draco turned his attention back to someone he actually cared about, and how he could apologize to Pansy without actually apologizing to her.

“So we both agree that I saved you from Potter and Chang, right?”

Her gaze turned shrewd and suspicious. “Sure, I guess.”

“Then you’ll let me keep your chocolates as repayment. You don’t even like sweets. You told me so, remember?”

Weasley stared at him and Draco stared back, certain of her capitulation and not hiding that certainty from the expression on his face. Then he went a step further and reached into his pocket for his money pouch.

“If you won’t give them to me, I’ll pay you for them. Let’s say… eleven Sickles?”

Her eyes narrowed.

He held the coins out to her in his open palm, the silver glinting with a hint of blue from the flames reflecting off their shiny surfaces.

She placed her hand on top of his, her fingertips warm against his palm and sending an electric shock up his arm. Then she took the coins, her fingernails scraping gently against his skin, which did nothing except send more electricity through the rest of his body like a lightning strike.

“My nutritionist thanks you.”

“No gratitude from you though?”

“You have it,” she said seriously. “Thank you.”

Maybe it was wrong to look into her eyes and see his favorite caramel-centered chocolate bonbons, like she was a snack to be consumed instead of a person to be admired. But that’s all Draco could think of as they looked at each other, unable to tear their eyes away. The brown of her eyes was warm and smooth and velvety, just like caramel and chocolate swirled together. Draco had the sudden desire to taste her.

Not her eyes. That would be weird.

Her mouth. Her jaw. Even the tips of her flaming red ears, which were exposed because she never wore a cap or earmuffs to keep them protected from the elements.

He gulped and pulled his gaze away, but it was as difficult as pulling caramel. Sometimes Draco watched the confectioners in Honeydukes make their candy behind the glass wall that divided the shop from the kitchen. Watching the witches pull sugar with their bare hands, even though the sugar had to be extremely hot to stay pliable, had always fascinated him. Looking away from Weasley felt like they were pulling caramel together to make the centers of his favorite bonbons, except unlike the Honeydukes confectioners, Draco didn’t have strong enough muscles to succeed at the endeavor.

His gaze snapped back and so did hers.

And then they laughed at how ridiculously they were behaving, and Draco felt new kinds of warmth that had nothing to do with the sappy blue flames that heated their frozen cores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will bring George's return, which means... more shenanigans. :D


	5. St. Patrick's Day 2006

  
  


**  
_St. Patrick's Day 2006_   
**

The Leaky Cauldron was full of so many redheads, for a moment, Ginny thought she’d walked into the middle of a Weasley family reunion. As she pushed through the crowd from the door, she realized that most of the people who filled the pub were not natural redheads. She could tell because the wigs were bad. Like… really, really bad.

She supposed the point wasn’t to look like a natural redhead though. But if that wasn’t the point, she wasn’t sure what the point was. Mockery? Cultural appropriation? It was cool to be a ginger when it was St. Patrick’s Day, she guessed.

She scanned the crowd for a sign of Malfoy, who would surely stand out in the sea of orange-haired partiers. Unless… he, too, was wearing one of these awful wigs? A shudder wracked her body at the image that crossed her mind. If he was disguised as an Irish stereotype, they would never find each other in this mess.

Luckily Ginny didn’t have to search for long. A waving arm caught her attention, and as she turned to look, she spotted George and Verity by the bar. Malfoy was standing with them, looking perplexed at his situation and in desperate need of saving.

George had been the one to signal her, and as Ginny joined them, she realized why. Verity was deep in conversation with Malfoy explaining the chemistry behind WWW’s Wildfire Whizbangs and how they meshed science and magic to create their famed explosives. Malfoy glanced at her and smiled at her approach, but he returned his attention back to Verity immediately, so Ginny did not interfere.

“Making friends?” Ginny asked George.

He grinned and handed a pint of beer to her. “You have no idea.”

Ginny groaned as she realized what he was wearing. “Really, George? The hat I sort of understand, but you’re already a redhead. You don’t need a wig.”

“Couldn’t help it. The wig came attached. See?”

He lifted the floppy green top hat, and the shiny hair that hung down to George’s shoulders lifted along with it to reveal his gleaming bare scalp.

“You’re bald!”

He stroked his head and said in exaggerated shock, “What! Since when!” Then he replaced the hat and tossed his head to get some of the strands of hair out of his face. “Don’t know how you and Bill deal with this mess.”

“It’s much easier to manage when it’s real hair.”

“I don’t see how. It gets _everywhere_.” He withdrew a strand of wig hair from his water before taking a gulp from the glass.

“Yes, that part is bothersome,” Ginny agreed. “And you’re not going to distract me from the fact that you have no hair. What the hell happened?”

Verity had either finished her explanation or she’d overheard and couldn’t resist interrupting her own one-sided conversation to talk about the poor state of George’s scalp. Either way, she cut herself off and then turned with a snicker. “One of our trials for a new WWW potion exploded. It singed off most of his hair, and then by the end of the day, the rest fell out.”

Verity and George clearly had the same sense of humor and were made for each other, because Ginny wasn’t laughing.

“Are you okay? Is the workshop okay? This seems serious!”

George waved her off. “Nah. I’m fine. Everything is fine! I bought my ingredients from a different shop this time, and apparently that was a mistake. I’ll splurge on ingredients from now on.”

 _Splurging_ was what George did when he supplied alcohol that he didn’t even drink for family gatherings. Splurging was buying Victoire extravagant gifts. Splurging was _not_ paying more money for good ingredients to use for his livelihood. That was just... good business. So what Ginny took from George’s explanation was that he had cut corners. The only reason he would cut corners wasn’t to increase profits, but to _make_ a profit.

“George,” Ginny entreated, her tone sobering from concern.

“Don’t worry about it, Ginny Bean.” George still had a smile on his face, but there was a definite dismissal in his words that made Ginny flush with embarrassment.

Her gaze shifted to Malfoy, who was eying her. As if he was waiting for her signal to step in? Or simply observing and absorbing her family’s potential drama?

George reached for Verity’s arm and pulled her away from Malfoy in the middle of a sentence that had the word “oxidization” in it. “Dearest, why don’t we save some of that for later? There’s plenty of time to acquaint Draco with the family business.”

Verity’s hands shot up to cover her mouth. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Draco. I got carried away. Science is _fascinating_ , isn’t it?”

“Come on, let’s go pester the band with song requests. You kids have fun!” George said as he led Verity into the depths of the surging crowd.

“How much of that did you catch?” Ginny asked Malfoy as they closed the gap that her brother and almost-sister-in-law had left behind.

“Maybe every other word? I know what combustion means, but not the way she used it. And don’t ask me what an electron is. I don’t know and I probably don’t care.”

Ginny’s lips twitched. “Not that. How much did you hear of what George said?”

“The light reflecting off his extremely shiny head distracted me from his fiancee, so… all of it. Is he in trouble?”

Ginny sighed. “I don’t know. It sounds like it, but I don’t understand how. The shop is always busy. I can’t imagine they’re not getting enough business.”

She worried her lip with her teeth while her mind raced a mile a minute. If the shop was receiving enough business, then maybe the extravagance George showered on his family explained his dire situation, if indeed it was dire. She wondered how much Verity knew about it, though Ginny suspected not much. She didn’t think Verity would have laughed about George’s exploding potion if she knew the explosion had been caused by the use of inferior ingredients he’d bought to save money.

Malfoy seemed to be equally lost in thought until he fell against her, jostled by an amorous couple behind him. His arm automatically went around Ginny, pulling her in tight to prevent both of them from toppling over.

He turned with a scowl, and then his expression froze into one of comical disbelief. Ginny leaned sideways to peer around him, only to find Pansy Parkinson locked in a passionate embrace with Justin Finch-Fletchley. It took Ginny a moment to identify them as they were both wearing cheap orange wigs and felt top hats, not dissimilar from George’s attire.

“Pansy,” Malfoy snapped, and Parkinson’s head popped up, her lipstick smeared around her kiss-swollen lips. She smiled at the sight of Malfoy despite the vicious frown on his face.

“Draco! My darling, what on earth are you doing here?”

As she said this, Justin continued to pepper kisses along her jaw and neck, which only made Ginny think of the last time Harry had peppered her body with adoring kisses. The sad thing was, she _couldn’t_ remember the last time as it had been a very long time indeed. The next saddest thing was… Ginny was actually feeling envious of Pansy Parkinson and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Envious and possibly nauseated.

“I presume the same thing everyone else is doing.”

Parkinson swatted Justin’s hands away. “Why don’t you go get us some drinks? Whatever the special is today.”

Justin pulled his hat off and bowed with a flourish, his flailing limbs smacking two women waiting for the bartender next to him. “Whatever my lady desires. Anything for you, Malfoy, Ginny?”

“Oh,” Ginny said. “No. No thank you. I’m… I’m good.” She lifted her still half-full pint glass and Malfoy shook his head.

He disappeared into the frothing crowd, perhaps looking for a spot at the bar where the pack of partiers was thinner or in search of a bartender friendlier to male clientele.

Parkinson grabbed Ginny’s wrists, and her drink sloshed out of the glass onto both of their hands. In a moment of thoughtfulness, Malfoy took the glass from her, switching it with a napkin Ginny couldn’t use because of Parkinson’s excited grip.

“Look at us!” Parkinson said. “Double holidating! Did you ever think you’d see the day?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy roll his before taking a long drink of her beer. “Considering I didn’t know what holidating was until a couple months ago, no, I can’t say I ever imagined double holidating anyone.”

“You’ve got to tell me everything. Draco has been stingy with the details.” She released one of Ginny’s hands to shoo at Malfoy. “Go on, then. We can’t talk about you while you’re hovering over us.”

He glanced at Ginny and waited. It took a moment for her to realize he was waiting for some signal from her, and whatever she chose, he’d act on her wishes, whether for him to stay or go. But she didn’t know. She knew Pansy Parkinson from school, of course, and she remembered how catty and mean she’d been back then. She didn’t know what Parkinson was like now or what she truly wanted from Ginny. So in answer to Malfoy’s unspoken question, Ginny merely shrugged in confusion.

His lips spread into a smile. “I guess I’ll go find more of this.” He lifted the now empty pint glass.

As he turned away, Parkinson dragged Ginny further down the bar, closer to the window that looked out on Diagon Alley. The light was bleeding away as the sun began to set, casting shadows from the shops onto Friday night meanderers traversing the street.

Parkinson let go of Ginny and smirked. “Still keeping up this holidating business with Draco, I see.”

She was obviously familiar with their arrangement, but how many details Malfoy had shared with her was a mystery to Ginny, so she kept her answers general. “He’s amenable, so why not? Finding new holidates every month seems like such a chore.”

“That it is. A bit too much like true dating, and who has the time or stomach for that?”

Ginny certainly didn’t. With her career taking off, her sister-in-law pregnant, her brother getting married this year, and attempting to avoid Harry through everything, her life was busy. She didn’t want Harry back if he didn’t want her, but the idea of putting that relationship to rest so soon also filled her with a buzzing anxiety. No. Casual and platonic outings with someone she could never fall in love with and who could never fall in love with her was all Ginny could bear right now.

“So,” Parkinson said with a wicked gleam in her eye. She leaned closer to Ginny as if to preserve their non-existent privacy. “How has it been? How has _he_ been?”

A protective spark flared inside Ginny at Parkinson’s questions. They didn’t know each other, they weren’t friends, and Ginny wasn’t a gossip. If Parkinson thought she’d retrieve some salacious tidbits from her, Ginny would have to disabuse her of that notion right away.

“I don’t know what Malfoy has told you, but we’re not sleeping together, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, no, darling, he told me all that already. Holidates for a year, no provoking each other’s friends and families, no sex, yadda yadda. I’m in the loop as far as the terms of your situation are concerned. What I want to know is what you think about _him_? How is Draco as a holidate?”

The extent of Parkinson’s knowledge surprised Ginny. Malfoy must have told her the details, which meant they were even better friends than Ginny knew. Close friends. Confidantes maybe. It was a revelation considering Malfoy had treated Parkinson like a groupie back at Hogwarts, and his closest friends back then had been nearly as intelligent as trolls. She couldn’t imagine Malfoy spilling his heart out to Parkinson, so maybe he’d told her everything while laughing at Ginny’s expense.

She stiffened, and her voice became as rigid as her body. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

For a moment, Parkinson looked startled by Ginny’s defensiveness, and then it passed. “Relax. I don’t mean anything by it. It’s just that this is the longest relationship Draco has ever had, and I’m curious.”

“We’re not in a relationship! Two holidates does not make a relationship.”

One of Parkinson’s eyebrows lifted. “Two holidates, huh? New Year’s Eve, Valentine’s Day, and St. Patrick’s Day. That makes three.”

A flush bloomed over Ginny’s cheeks, caught off guard again by how much Parkinson knew about her dates. “Valentine’s Day wasn’t a holidate” was the only thing she could think to say.

“It may not have started out as one, but you spent the holiday together, didn’t you? He saved you from humiliation in front of Potter and his—wait! Where are you going?”

Ginny dove back into the horde of partiers, new humiliation giving her the speed to flee and the strength to storm through the crowd. She didn’t stop until she was outside clutching her cloak around her for both warmth and comfort.

She wasn’t sure why Parkinson knowing so much about her holidates with Malfoy bothered her. Maybe because Malfoy had never mentioned that he and Parkinson were such good friends. When would he have, though? Why would he share that with her when they were nothing to each other except a means to escape loneliness and pity during the holidays? Still, Parkinson’s knowledge made Ginny feel vulnerable and out of the loop, the same way she’d felt when Harry had broken up with her. Like she’d been living in a bubble, blind to what was really happening and the world had also conspired to hide the truth from her.

Parkinson knew about Ginny’s encounter with Harry on Valentine’s Day. The Daily Prophet had published that drivel about Harry and Cho’s relationship on the front page just days before, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume Parkinson knew about that as well. It was likely that she and Malfoy had laughed about how pathetic Ginny had been, unable to disentangle herself from a conversation with her ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. Or maybe they’d laughed at Ginny’s holidating proposal, at how desperate she had been to convince Malfoy of her idea. Holidating wasn’t serious, but Ginny still wanted to be taken seriously.

That almost-kiss on New Year’s Eve seemed so long ago now. Ginny couldn’t believe she’d ever regretted that Malfoy had missed the countdown. And Valentine’s Day? Hah! How delusional had she been to believe for one second that when Malfoy had told Harry he wanted to fuck her, he’d meant it? He’d called the idea absurd! Ridiculous! He said he would never willingly shag a Weasley.

A tiny part of her, the tiniest, most vulnerable part of her, had felt the same regret she’d felt at the end of the New Year’s Eve countdown. Not just regret, but disappointment, too. She’d been disappointed to hear that he didn’t want to have sex with her after all, that the idea of it was a joke to him. That tiny, lonely part of her had felt a connection between them that sparked an interest she wasn’t ready to pursue. Not this soon after Harry.

What a fool she’d been to think Malfoy had been genuinely considerate of her feelings rather than doing what all the gossip rags had done since Harry and Cho went public. Feeding off her for entertainment purposes. Laughing at her with his friends.

Ginny took a deep breath and watched it escape as a frozen puff of air in front of her face. She straightened her shoulders and released her white-knuckled clutch on the edges of her cloak.

What did it matter what Malfoy said about her? They’d been holidates for more than two months now, and Malfoy hadn’t gone to one of those gossip rags with any information he’d discovered on New Year’s Eve or Valentine’s Day. If he was laughing at her privately with friends, that was still better than turning her into a fool for the public’s titillation. It was no secret they were using each other for their own purposes during the holidays, so acting wounded because Malfoy wasn’t her friend didn’t make any sense and wasn’t fair to the terms they’d agreed to.

This didn’t matter.

She took a bracing breath of cold air and then went back inside. The body heat generated by the crush of people assaulted her immediately, bringing feeling back to her fingertips and toes. In an effort to avoid Parkinson, Ginny didn’t return to the bar. Instead, she went where George said he was headed last and pushed toward the stage where a live band played covers of popular songs on fiddles and banjos.

George was there just in front of the stage, laughing as he swung Verity around in time with the music. Either the floor had been cleared for dancing intentionally or the crowd had dispersed in this area of the pub to avoid the dancing couple. Either way, they had plenty of room for movement and that meant Ginny saw Parkinson, Justin, and Malfoy as soon as she popped out of the crowd at the edge of the dance space.

Parkinson nudged Malfoy and pointed in her direction, and his whole face lit up. Ginny glanced around her, wondering if someone else he knew had just arrived, but his reaction must have been caused by _her_ arrival because he was in front of her now, grasping her hands.

He leaned down, and he was so tall—or she was so short—he was nearly doubled over to reach her ear. “Dance with me?” he asked, his breath hot against the side of her face.

A shiver raced down her spine, and her fingertips clenched around his hands. When he pulled back to look at her, she noticed something off about him. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks high with color.

Clearly in the few minutes they’d been separated, he had consumed something strong enough to inebriate him. Still, that didn’t stop her body from wanting to step into his embrace, to grip his hands firmly in hers. She tried to remind herself of what she’d just discovered, that Malfoy was laughing at her behind her back, using her desperation for a holidate as private entertainment for him and his friends.

But he was staring down at her with the focus of a drunk person working very hard to concentrate on something important, and his palms were warm against her fingers, and his body radiated heat that drew her toward him automatically.

She nodded, and Malfoy’s lips widened into a smile she’d never seen before, one that was unguarded, uncontrollable.

He pulled her onto the dance floor, his hold on her changing, one hand tightening around hers, the other going to the small of her back and pulling her close to him. She didn’t know what kind of dance he was leading her in, but it was high energy, their movements more like a skip than a step, and he twirled her around with more grace than she expected of him, considering his level of intoxication. Ginny’s breath caught as they whirled around the small space, around George and Verity. Someone on the edge of the crowd was whooping in delight; others were clapping. Ginny wasn’t sure who because she couldn’t look away from Malfoy, and she couldn’t stop the laughter that fell out of her because of how much _fun_ she was having. Dancing! Who knew he could dance! Who knew she could? The last time she’d had this much fun dancing was with Neville at the Yule Ball her third year. She’d never enjoyed herself this much while dancing at her brothers’ weddings with— 

No, she wouldn’t think of him now. Not when she was enjoying herself so much with the unlikeliest of partners. Not when he was smiling at her as if this was the most fun he’d ever had on a dance floor, too.

They spun faster and faster as the music sped up and then came to a satisfying but abrupt halt. Both Ginny and Malfoy’s chests heaved as they sucked in air. Sweat dripped down Ginny’s back. She hadn’t even taken her cloak off, so it was no wonder she was so hot now. Malfoy wasn’t wearing a cloak, but perspiration dotted his forehead from their exertions, and it was simply too easy—frustratingly easy—to imagine other activities that might leave him equally as breathless, happy, and sweaty.

An ache echoed low in Ginny’s gut, making her thighs clench together, but before she could process her thoughts and her body’s reaction to them, Parkinson was shoving a green drink into her hands.

“What is it?” Ginny asked just before quenching her thirst anyway. A dusting of golden glitter swirled in the liquid, mesmerizing Ginny into taking another drink to finish the small glass. It tasted how she imagined Spring and sunshine would taste. Sweetness on her tongue and comfortable warmth at the back of her throat.

“It’s today’s special,” Parkinson said. She practically shouted in Ginny’s ear because the band had started up a new song, and this time they’d brought out a bagpipe to accompany the fiddle and the vocals. “I think it’s spiked with a Cheering Charm!” 

That explained Malfoy’s impromptu desire to dance as well as Ginny’s sudden and growing elation.

The conversation with Parkinson, the conclusion Ginny had come to when she’d stepped outside the pub, her resentment about being Malfoy’s source of private entertainment, none of that mattered. Not only that… she completely forgot about them in light of Malfoy taking her hand again (or maybe he’d never let go in the first place?) and whirling her back onto the dance floor. This time they were not only accompanied by George and Verity (very much not affected by Cheering Charm-spiked alcoholic beverages but matching everyone’s energy just the same), but also by Parkinson and Justin, who skillfully turned an Irish jig into an opportunity to grind against each other in public.

Ginny’s heart swelled with the music, with laughter, with the feel of Malfoy’s hands on her. At one point, she stumbled and landed in Malfoy’s arms, and then all she could think about was how good it felt to be held, how good it might feel if he held her harder. He touched her at all times, even when drawing her away from the dance floor and to a table in the corner for some rest, but even then, everything was so _funny_ and neither of them could stop laughing.

George, Verity, Parkinson, and Justin joined them when the song ended, all of them cheering the band as if the trio of musicians had put on the best performance they’d ever heard. They fanned themselves with their various hats and wigs, the heat overwhelming after so much vigorous dancing.

“Weasley!” Malfoy called, a definite slur in his voice. Maybe he wasn’t intoxicated with alcohol yet, but the Cheering Charm brewed into the drink certainly mimicked the effects of drunkenness.

“Yeah?” both George and Ginny said at the same time.

“Why do you have one ear, Weasley? Did you have one ear on New Year’s?”

Parkinson waved her hands, silencing George from answering.

“No. We are not doing this. I have had too many St. Patrick’s Day specials, and there are too many Weasleys at this table to call them all Weasley.”

“There are literally only two,” Ginny replied, but she was laughing at the wide-eyed confusion on Parkinson’s face.

“Two and a half!” Verity interjected.

Parkinson held up two fingers, brandishing them in Ginny’s face. “I SAID TWO MANY. Two is too many! Two-point-five is INNUMERABLE. I forbid the word Weasley from being uttered in my presence ever again!”

Malfoy snorted. “So what am I supposed to call them? Ginger Number One and Ginger Number Two?”

George pointed at him as if he was onto something. “I am, of course, Ginger Number One. Sorry, Gin. Seniority.”

Ginny opened her mouth to amiably agree with her brother, but Justin interrupted her. “Why can’t we all call each other by first names? You know, in the Muggle world—”

“SHUT UP,” Pansy shouted, and then she kissed him on the mouth. “ALSO I DON’T KNOW ANYONE’S NAMES.”

“Okay,” George, possibly the only sober and-slash-or sane person at the table, said reasonably. “Let’s go around and introduce ourselves for everyone’s elucidation.”

“No one says elucidation,” Malfoy muttered under his breath.

“Why don’t I go first? I’m Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

“PANSY PARKINSON.”

“George Weasley.”

“Oh, I’m Verity—”

“Draco Malfoy, of course.”

“Ginny Weasley!”

“There! Isn’t that better?” Parkinson—er, Pansy—said, her voice a little hoarse from all the shouting.

“It’s almost like we’re friends now!” Verity exclaimed.

Ginny glanced at Malfoy— _Draco_ —from the corner of her eye, wondering what he thought about the idea of being friends with Justin Finch-Fletchley, two Weasleys, and a Weasley’s fiancee. His focus seemed to be captured by the table top as he ran a fingernail along the wood grain and scratches from years—decades—of use. He was frowning, and that made Ginny’s heart lurch. She wasn’t sure why the idea of being friends seemed so appealing. Maybe because if they were friends, he’d stop laughing at her behind her back. Ginny could take a joke, and she knew their holidating situation was ridiculous. She would have loved to laugh _with_ him about it, that’s all.

Ginny’s attention returned to the group when a waitress arrived at the table to pass out more St. Patrick’s Day specials. Everyone accepted a glass except George, who gently pushed his toward Verity until Pansy snatched it and mixed it with hers.

Ginny didn’t fail to notice that as soon as Draco took a sip, his mood immediately improved, a smile lighting his face all the way up to his stone-gray eyes. She wondered what he’d been thinking about that had managed to counteract the Cheering Charm in his first drink.

And then that thought flew right out of her brain as her St. Patrick’s Day special began to work its magic to turn the evening into a truly special one indeed.

* * *

A Cheering Charm hangover mixed with a normal alcohol-induced hangover was no joke.

Ginny woke up groaning, unable to open her eyes because she could sense sunlight banging against her lids, demanding to be let in, and she wanted to hold off the invasion for as long as possible. Her temples throbbed with a headache, and her mouth was dry as cotton. She remained in a horizontal position because she knew as soon as she sat up, her stomach would rebel against her, and she did not desire to see how green and glittery her vomit would be.

So she groaned again and tried to think past the headache. Without opening her eyes, she could tell she was laying on her back, and she must be on the floor because the surface beneath her was hard and a little bit scratchy against her bare shoulder blades, as if she was on a rug and not on sheets. The right side of her body felt toasty and warm from a crackling fire. The left side of her body was frozen from a draft with an unknown source.

Her whole body tensed as she backtracked her thoughts and catalogued her situation again. Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t make sense.

Why were her shoulder blades bare? Why was she on the floor?

Her eyelids fluttered open, careful of the amount of light she allowed to pierce her brain and make her headache worse.

“Morning, duck,” Malfoy—Draco—said from the loveseat next to her head.

The sound of his sleep-roughened voice propelled Ginny into a sitting position, her head and her stomach be damned. As soon as she was at an angle, she realized what was wrong with the picture she hadn’t seen until just now.

She was in her bra and knickers. _Only_ her bra and knickers.

A gasp fell out of her mouth and she reached for a throw pillow on the loveseat to cover herself with while Draco watched her, his head propped on the arm of the loveseat, while his bare feet dangled off the other arm. For a moment, all Ginny could do was stare at those bare feet. It didn’t seem right for her to know what Draco’s toes looked like. Such a sight was more intimate than his bare chest, which she was also accosted with once she finally fought through the grogginess enough to get a full picture of her surroundings.

“Did we—?” she gulped, unable to finish her sentence. 

One of Draco’s eyebrows arched. “Did we what?”

Ginny closed her eyes, partly in shame, partly to help her remember what had happened last night.

There had been more rounds of the St. Patrick’s Day special. More dancing. Ginny didn’t actually remember the dancing part, just the thrill of dizziness and elation as she was swung around the dance floor. She might recall dancing with George and also Justin and maybe even Pansy as well? It was such a blur, she wasn’t sure if what she was remembering was memory or a dream.

Somehow she and Draco had ended up back at his flat, but she had no memory of arriving or even leaving the pub.

She stood up on shaky legs, the throw pillow only large enough to cover her top half or her bottom half. She held it sort of halfway between the two, not quite covering either part of her sufficiently.

Draco was staring, and maybe it would have been more polite for him to look away, give her some dignity as she searched for her clothes, or even just her cloak. Instead, he pillowed his head with one arm and settled in for the show.

And for some reason, Ginny didn’t hate that he wouldn’t look away. Through the anxiety of not knowing what had happened last night, the parts she did remember left her feeling flushed, and his eyes on her only made her recall those moments more vividly.

The places his hands touched her as they danced. His breath as he laughed next to her ear. The delight in his eyes and the wide smile on his face creating an expression she’d never seen Draco Malfoy make before. The taste of his lips on the rim of a glass as they, at one point, shared a St. Patrick’s Day special. Each moment had made her heart race, made her blood boil, set her curiosity ablaze.

“Well?” Draco prompted, apparently refusing to answer her question without her explicitly asking it.

Her body heated. If that’s how he’d made her feel during the parts of their evening that she could remember, then she didn’t doubt that they’d come to his home and— 

“Fuck. Did we fuck last night?” she choked out.

“I don’t recall. But you’re wearing my underwear, so it seems likely.”

She glanced down, all that heat turning into frost. Somehow she’d missed that she wasn’t wearing her _own_ knickers but men’s boxer briefs instead.

Draco sat up, his feet retreating from the edge of the loveseat to the floor, but he remained in a lounging pose, as if he had no intention of getting up or getting dressed.

Ginny realized her cloak was draped over his lap. If she was wearing his underwear, then that meant that underneath her cloak either he was stretching hers thin or— 

“No,” she said automatically. Then, “No,” she added more brightly, with a little more conviction and an accompanying shake of her head. “We didn’t. I’m pretty sure I’d know if we did, so I say we didn’t.”

“How would you know? Do you have a security system on your….” His eyebrows twitched suggestively, and his mouth twitched with mirth. Great. He was making fun of her now. Ginny could just imagine how he’d tell this story to Pansy later.

“ _No, Malfoy_ , I do not have a security system on my _vagina_ , thank you very much. But it’s been a, er, really long dry spell, and I’m sure I’d still feel it if we’d engaged in intercourse last night.”

He put a hand over his mouth, pretending to stifle a yawn, but Ginny thought she heard a quiet, muffled _“No one says intercourse anymore”_ instead. Then he lowered his hand and said, “If you insist. And it’s Draco now, remember?”

She ignored the part about his name. “I do insist! Can’t you tell when you’ve…?”

He lifted the edge of her cloak and looked underneath it, confirming, to Ginny’s mortification, the true nature of his underwear situation. Or lack thereof.

“Not really. Looks about the same down there as any other morning.”

Ginny made an inarticulate sound and turned away, her gaze lowering as she searched for her clothes so she wouldn’t have to look at Draco’s face and hopefully he wouldn’t be able to see hers. She could feel his eyes following her though, and her skin prickled at his attention, even when she darted behind the armchair to take his underwear off and slip hers on. Jeans and a jumper followed. She was unwilling to spend any more time searching in humiliation, so her shirt would just have to be lost to her forever.

She felt better when she stepped out from behind the chair, more in control, more dignified.

“So we agree, right? We didn’t have sex.”

“Sure, Ginny.”

She startled at the sound of her name. Of course, they’d agreed to use first names from now on. Her name sounded foreign on his aristocratic tongue, but it also fell off his tongue and settled deep inside her, in a place she could too easily imagine that tongue exploring. A place that maybe wished they had slept together after all.

“No, it didn’t happen,” she said to herself. Then she groaned. “Ugh. What is my family going to say when they find out we spent the night together? What will Harry think?”

Draco slowly got to his feet, her cloak clutched in front of him, but not well enough to conceal his legs. Without even thinking about it, Ginny’s gaze dropped downwards, her mind blanking at the sight of the blond hair on his thighs, her cloak draped between them the only semblance of modesty.

As her eyes raked up his body, taking in every inch of bare skin, the definition of his muscles, the scar bisecting his chest diagonally, she realized he had no modesty whatsoever. No embarrassment met her gaze as she reached his face. No humility. Only a tension in his mouth—a scowl for invoking Harry’s name?—and a darkness in his eyes, which were usually stone-grey and now were stormy and intent on her.

“I think you protest a little too much for someone who is certain we didn’t have sex.” 

“Do I?” she asked, her voice rising in pitch as he drew closer to her. So close she could reach out and touch all that alabaster skin. So close she could feel the warmth radiating off him. But how could he possibly be warm? That draft— 

His head lowered enough for his lips to reach her ears. Ginny couldn’t stop herself from swaying toward him. Doing so brought her lower belly in contact with the hand clutching her cloak in front of his hips, and she gasped even though the thick material of her jeans and jumper prevented her skin from touching his.

She didn’t need to feel his hands on her to imagine how good that might feel. Imagining it made her want it, though.

“You do,” he said into her ear, the puffs of his breath creating goosebumps all over her body, making her nipples tighten almost painfully. “You only have to say the word, _Ginny_. I could have you on the floor or against the door so fast. Anywhere you want it. Any time. Rule number three be damned.”

The problem had never been Ginny’s imagination.

As a child growing up on stories of infant Harry Potter, seeing Harry that first time at Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters had sparked her imagination into overdrive. Her crush had grown from her imaginings, fantasies of meeting him again at Hogwarts the next year, of him falling in love with her, of dating for seven years and marrying right out of school just like her parents had, and then being as blissfully happy as her parents were, with a family just as large, if not larger. She’d never let go of her fantasies even when reality had turned out differently, and that’s exactly why Ginny had been so shocked and disappointed when Harry had broken up with her.

Her imagination had fueled her fears after the Chamber of Secrets. Inspired her nightmares. Her imagination had also banished those same fears when she’d imagined herself stronger than Tom Riddle, until his memory no longer haunted her.

And Draco Malfoy’s voice, his words, kindled something inside her that she inherently knew would incinerate her if she did not curb her imagination. Because she could imagine everything he said. She could picture him taking her down to the floor, right in front of that roaring fireplace, and putting his hands and his mouth over every inch of skin that hadn’t been touched by another person in months. Alternately, she could envision him pushing her up against the door and hiking one of her legs up so he could touch her right where her body begged to be touched. She could imagine how good it would feel if he filled her up and burned her down.

Draco lifted his head just enough to look her in the eye. “Speak now—” _Or forever hold your peace._ The rest didn’t need to be said, though. If she turned him down, he’d never mention breaking rule number three again. There wouldn’t be another offer.

The problem was, Ginny could imagine breaking her own rule, begging him for it, and getting _exactly_ what she asked for. She could also imagine afterwards when he met up with Pansy and told her everything. How Ginny had begged. How quickly she’d climaxed. How needy and desperate and pathetic she’d been.

And that fantasy was the one that rained ice cold water down on her, cooling the desire that had begun to ignite her blood.

His offer couldn’t be a serious one. He’d said it himself on Valentine’s Day—the idea of sleeping with her was absurd, ridiculous. He’d never willingly shag her. So his offer must have been a ploy to fluster her, to send her running out the door so he could spend the rest of his Saturday in peace.

She took a step back, out of the circle of his warmth, and with that step, she also took her cloak, snatching it right out of his hand. He stood before her naked as the day he was born. Ginny didn’t look down, and Draco didn’t cover himself.

“I got it,” she said, seething with anger at herself for letting her imagination get away from her. “I’ll get out of your hair. There was no need to be spiteful; I promise I wasn’t planning to stay.”

His expression shifted to what looked like confusion—feigned, surely!—but she didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she stomped to the door.

It was only as she slammed it shut behind her and descended the stairs that she realized she wasn’t wearing her boots. Well, she couldn’t go back for them now. She stormed out the front door in her socks, cloak draped over her arm, and as she turned on her heel to Disapparate for home, she pretended she didn’t see Draco watching her from the first floor window.

She pretended she didn’t like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀 Let me know what you think!!


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